The Quality Of Mercy
by BookQ36
Summary: Ripples in a pond. A butterfly beats its wings in Japan and in San Diego they get rain instead of sunshine. What if someone had treated Spike differently in season 4? How would the landscape of the Buffyverse have changed? Extrapolated from my oneshot "Popcorn & Chips" and semi-starring my OC, Samantha Hobart.
1. Is Not Buffy

The title for this story comes from a scene in season two, the episode "I Only Have Eyes For You". As Xander observes, "Yeesh, the quality of mercy is not Buffy."

_What if someone in the Scooby inner circle had given Spike a chance after he came to them for asylum? How might that have changed the course of events in the Buffyverse? This story was initially just going to be a season 4 AU, but it may turn into AU season 5 as well, depending on RL issues and how cooperative my muses are. _

_This story starts immediately after 4x08 'Pangs' ends, and then goes AU._

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><p><em>"The quality of mercy is not strained;<em>

_It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven_

_Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;_

_It blesseth him that gives and him that takes."_

_~ William Shakespeare_

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><p>1 - ...Is Not Buffy<p>

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><p>"We all worked together," Willow smiled, looking around the table. "It was like old times."<p>

Xander nodded, briefly looking up before digging back into his pie. "Yeah, especially with Angel being here and everything." He froze, realizing his mistake, and stared intently down at the table cloth, hoping that Buffy wouldn't be too angry with him. "Oops."

There was an audible clatter when Buffy let her fork fall. "Angel… was _here_ ?" She looked around the table, registering the various degrees of shock on her friends' – and Spike's – faces.

The Scooby core, Willow, Giles and Xander all looked appropriately guilty, Spike was clearly loving the drama he was about to witness, judging by the grin on his face, and Anya couldn't seem to care less. She was intent on finishing her pie.

Buffy's voice was an odd cross between a shout and a growl. "What do you mean, he was here?"

Since Thanksgiving dinner was pretty much over – people were really just picking at their desserts at that point – Giles and Willow started to clear the table. It was a good excuse to get away from the dining area where Buffy was angrily grilling Xander, and they quickly made themselves scarce.

"Xander, spill. What was he doing here?"

He fidgeted in his seat, unwilling to look at her, but after a while he couldn't find an excuse to keep staring at the table. Besides, he could feel Buffy's angry gaze boring into his skull and he just couldn't take the tension anymore. He looked up, flinched at the barely controlled rage in Buffy's green eyes, and his courage hopped a bus to Sacramento.

"G man, Angel told you why he was here when he first hit town, right?"

Giles had just reached the sink. He handed off his plate to Willow, glared at Xander over one shoulder and then sighed, shooting an apologetic look at Buffy as he turned around. "He came to me three days ago. One of the people he works with in Los Angeles had a vision of you in danger-"

Buffy was livid. She got up from the table and stalked over to the kitchen where Giles had started to pile the dirty dishes. "So he comes here and follows me around? What gives him the right to-"

Giles cut her off with an upraised hand. "I wanted to tell you, but he felt that his presence here would only distract you, put you in more danger."

Willow tried to smile at her. "It's true. I thought he should tell you, but things got so crazed and it was just one more thing to deal with."

"You knew too?" Buffy blinked, turning back to face Willow with an expression of hurt in her eyes. "Did- w- was everyone in on this except me?" She glanced around the room, and a quick look was all she needed to confirm that all of her friends had known about Angel's presence.

Spike had perked up as soon as Xander put his foot in his mouth, and now he eagerly watched the Slayer giving her friends a hard time.

"Don't see what the problem is," Anya muttered to her pie. "He saved her life. If a large, glowery guy swooped in at the last minute and stopped me from getting knifed, _I_ wouldn't be complaining."

"Humans, love." Spike shrugged as well as he could, seeing as how he was still tied to a chair. "Get all emotional over things, lose sight of the big picture an' all."

"Shut up, nobody asked you." Xander glared at him, then got up from the table and put a hand on Buffy's arm, hoping to placate her. "I get that you're upset, and hey, I'm not Angel's biggest fan, but he helped us and protected you without getting in the way. What do you say we don't look a gift horse in the mouth, huh, Buff?"

Buffy let out a measured breath and nodded. "I'm not really mad at you guys, its just… when is he going to stop making these descisions for me? Either he's in my life or he's not. Theres no middle ground for us."

"Maybe he'll stop when he gets over that whole messianic complex that seemed to be a package deal with his soul. Bloody Angelus always had to do things _his_ way. Even Darla couldn't always tell him what to do. Don't see why the lapdog version should be any different."

Buffy walked over to Spike's chair, rolling her eyes at the captive vampire. "I knew we should have gagged you." She glanced at one of Giles' big cloth napkins, as though considering whether it could be used as a gag, but then she moved around behind the chair and out of his range of vision.

His retort turned into a surprised noise when she tipped his chair back so that only the rear legs were resting on the floor. "What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing?"

From Spike's new vantage point, all he could see was the ceiling, and shortly, that started to move. The utter helplessness of his situation – tied hand and foot to a chair which was being dragged by someone who could kill him any time she wanted to – didn't do a thing to help stem his quickly rising panic. "Where are we going? Slayer? Oi, where the hell are you taking me?"

The sound of the chair legs scraping over the floor made Giles cringe as he scrubbed at the dishes.

"Xander, get the crossbow."

Spike's eyes went wider and he craned his neck, trying to see where he was being taken. It was no use. He could only see the ceiling and various pieces of furniture as they passed on either side of him. He kept looking around worriedly, and as Buffy hauled him past the kitchen, he locked eyes with Willow. Spike tried to put on a bold front, but he was pretty sure that the witch had seen just how freaked he was. Bloody perfect.

They took a turn off of the hallway into a smallish room with a white ceiling which was ringed with tiles. The chair legs made much less noise on the floor in this room, but he didn't have much time to wonder what that meant, because Buffy set the chair upright again, and he saw that they were in Giles' bathroom.

Buffy flounced out of the room without a word, leaving him there to wonder what the crossbow was going to be used for. Spike listened as her footsteps trailed down the hall and back towards the living room.

She was walking quickly, purposefully towards the coat rack, and once there she removed a shiny, squiggly-looking stake made of yew wood from her jacket pocket and tucked it into the waistband of her pants. That done, she headed for the weapons chest. Xander was standing off to one side, loading an arrow into one of Giles' nicer crossbows. He watched her reach into the chest and take out two sets of heavy iron manacles.

"Giles, you have a key for these?"

The ex-Watcher slung a dish towel over his shoulder and nodded, heading out of the kitchen and towards a wooden latched box which he kept on a low shelf. "Yes. It's here, with the locks."

He lifted up the box and opened it, revealing all manner of mystical do-dads. Amulets, bits of bone covered in carved runes, gems, and other talisman-type things were all jumbled together. There was even something which looked like a cross between a tulip and a shield, made of pewter and some reddish translucent sort of material.

"Here." He handed over a pair of locks and a ring with two keys dangling from it. Buffy took them with a curt nod, grabbed a knife from the open weapons chest, and gestured for Xander to follow her.

Buffy marched back into the bathroom with Xander trailing not too far behind, holding the crossbow at his hip.

Spike twisted around as much as he could, glaring at Buffy as she stood in the doorway. His eyes flicked to the thick iron bands she was holding, an expression of concern passing over his face for the briefest of miliseconds before his swaggering attitude took over. "What now, Slayer? You gonna truss me up good an' proper? Never took you for the bondage type."

Buffy rolled her eyes and glanced at Xander, pointedly ignoring Spike's jibe as she put the dagger and the pair of leg irons down on the lid of Giles' wicker trashcan. "Keep him covered, Xand."

Xander nodded, raising the crossbow until it was leveled at the vampire's chest and adjusting his hold on the trigger.

Spike raised one eyebrow, clearly not impressed. "Ooo, what're ya gonna do, whelp? Shoot me? Been shot plenty of times tonight." He scoffed. "Ruddy vamp pincushion, I am."

Meanwhile, Buffy knelt down behind the vampire/chair package and untied the ropes which she had used to bind Spike's hands together behind his back. As the rope fell away, Spike started flexing his hands and balling them into fists. Not wanting to waste any time or give him an opportunity to try anything, she moved around to his side and grabbed Spike's left arm, roughly jerked it forward and started clamping the first set of chains around Spike's wrists.

Because Spike's arms were tightly bound to his sides by the rope which Buffy had used that afternoon, she had to use her Slayer strength to yank first one arm and then the other around to the front. Naturally, Spike was less than pleased by her level of gentleness. "Ow! Dammit, Slayer. I'm tied up 'ere. D'you have to be so bloody rough?" The vamp gritted his teeth and briefly wondered if it was actually possible to have a dislocated elbow.

She lifted her head and smiled sweetly at him. "That depends. Do _you_ have to be so annoying?"

Xander chuckled, earning a smouldering glare from the vampire. After a few seconds Spike shook his head and looked away. "I never did get that brandy..." he grumbled to himself.

Buffy undid the ropes which she had tied around Spike's ankles, binding his feet both to each other and to the chair legs, and she stood up again. He stretched his ankles, trying to work out the kinks from being stuck in the same position for so many hours. Buffy caught his movement out of the corner of her eye and had a flash of memory from when Xander and Oz had tried to tie her up at the beginning of the year, back when her demony room mate Kathy was borrowing her soul and the gang thought that Buffy had lost her marbles. With his legs free, Spike could stand up, kick out at them or do any one of a number of unhelpful things. She briefly debated putting the leg irons on him right away, but the idea of him kicking out with one shackled foot while the attached cuff swung free, acting like a mace decided the issue for her. After all, they still didn't know if he was telling the truth about being harmless. She stepped towards Xander, taking the crossbow from him and indicating the dagger with a jerk of her chin.

"Undo the rest of the ropes. Cut 'em if you have to. And Spike, if you try to leave this room, I'll shoot you in the throat."

Bravado firmly in place, he smirked up at her as Xander worked on the ropes. "You _do_ know that won't kill me, luv. Thought you were supposed to be well up on this stuff."

She bent down, taking hold of one of the Chumash arrows which was still sticking out of him and shrugging matter-of-fact-ly. "No, but it should shut you up for a while."

Spike hadn't been kidding about the whole pincushion thing. The first arrow had hit his chest just to the right of center, actually going through one of the button holes of his red shirt. If he had been alive, it would have collapsed his lung. Another had pierced his left shoulder from back to front, only missing his heart by a few inches. The third had buried itself a hands-breadth below the first, and the final shot hit him in the left thigh. Being undead, blood loss wasn't a concern for him, but being used as a pincushion by angry native spirits didn't rank high on his list of favorite pastimes. After the battle was over and before dinner started, Willow had taken most of the arrows out of him. Her gentleness at the task surprised him, as did her offer to get him bandages for the wounds, but he surmised that she was only being kind to him because she felt badly about fighting against the Chumash and not because she actually cared about him. One arrow was still sticking out of his thigh. When Willow had tried to remove it, the arrow wouldn't budge. Spike was pretty sure that part of the arrowhead had caught against his femur, and after Willow had tried jiggling it around to no avail while he cursed at the pain, he told her to just leave it be.

Buffy tightened her grip on the arrow, and Spike winced inwardly. This would _not _be pleasant. The slayer tugged and Spike tried not to let the pain show on his face. After a few tries, Buffy started pulling in earnest, and one good yank later the shaft was resting in her hand. Spike yowled in pain as the arrow came out; he had felt the arrowhead scraping off a fragment of bone from his femur on its way out. He threw his head back in pain, and the motion was violent enough to make the chair rock backwards slightly.

"All set here, Buff." The ropes fell loosely onto Spike's lap as Xander finished untying them, and he set the dagger aside on the tiled floor.

She aimed the crossbow at Spike's chest and ordered him to stand. He glared at her, still reeling slightly from the pain in his leg and hating that she of all people was there to see him show weakness. He rose slowly, gritting his teeth and stubbornly refusing to let her see how much the movement hurt.

Buffy casually kicked the empty chair out of the way and stepped forward, forcing Spike towards Giles' large claw-foot tub. "Get in."

Spike looked at the tub, then back at her and scoffed, "not bloody likely."

She tensed her finger on the crossbow's trigger and aimed the bolt at his heart. "Now." Her voice was hard and she narrowed her eyes at him, using her free hand to slide the highly polished stake out from where it had been resting at the small of her back. "Unless you want me to introduce you to Mr. Pointy."

Spike glared at her, seething with impotent rage, and he took a shuffling step towards the tub. He balled his hands into fists as he went. The gesture looked like he was trying to keep a hold of his temper, and he was perfectly happy to let the Scoobies think that was the case, but really he was willing himself not to favor his hurt leg. He wasn't about to let Buffy see him limping because of something she had done. He flat out refused to give her that satisfaction. His empty stomach growled, the arrow wounds throbbed dully, and it was all he could do not to snark at Buffy as he awkwardly climbed into the tub. He was in no shape to take on a Slayer, even if he could hit her without his head damn near exploding, and baiting her any further, while fun, wouldn't do him a hell of a lot of good either.

"Buff, you all set in here?"

She could tell that Xander was impatient, probably because he was anxious to get back to Anya. Buffy nodded at Xander, handing him the crossbow as she got the leg irons. "Almost. Keep him covered while I chain him up."

"So," Spike drawled, trying for nonchalance as the first shackle clicked shut, "what's the plan, then? Chain up the vamp and shampoo 'im to death?"

She ignored him, instead focusing on fastening the second cuff around his other ankle.

"This room doesn't get direct sunlight, so you'll be safe in here during the day and we won't have to deal with you." She stood up, finished, and one corner of her mouth quirked up. "Double bonus. Now, you're gonna stay here until you tell us everything we want to know about the commandos."

Buffy nodded to Xander that they were done, and he wished her a good night before heading back to the living room. She gathered up the coiled rope and the dagger in one hand, grabbed the chair with the other and dragged it back out to the main room, leaving Spike chained up in the tub.

He spent a few fruitless minutes fighting against the restraints. It should have been easy for him to get up, but because of the way he was sitting - legs stretched out in front of him and chained together - he couldn't manage to lever himself out of the tub. The chains were too thick for him to break with his bare hands, and because of the tub's width and how tightly Buffy had secured the leg irons, he didn't have enough room to bend his knees and get into a standing position. A quick tug on the hanging shower curtain convinced him that the flimsy metal tube supporting it wouldn't bear his weight if he tried to get to his feet by yanking on the plastic curtain. He supposed it would be possible to haul himself out of the tub by his arms, using his elbows to grip the edge of the tub, but he didn't relish the thought of tumbling over the side and being found sprawled on the floor by any one of the Scoobies.

Spike sighed, letting his head drop back against the tub and closing his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

From the bits of conversation that he overheard, Spike gathered that the next day Buffy would be on her way to L.A., ostensibly to visit her father, but everyone understood that a big part of the reason for her going there was because she wanted to confront Angel about his Invisible Man routine. Because of the holiday break, she would probably be gone until classes resumed the following Monday. That meant Spike would have three days of quality time alone with a former Watcher. Oh goody.


	2. Shaking Things Up

Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

A/N: _Sorry about taking so long to post this update. RL issues turned into a giant-rubix-cube o' writer's block, but things are looking up now and this chapter will be followed by at least one per week for the next few weeks. Kudos to anyone who realized that the tulip/shield shaped talisman I described in chapter one was the Word of Valios. More Easter eggs of that sort to come, some in the shape of props from other seasons, some references to other TV shows. Reviewers who identify these little eggies and ask for updates will help me to post chapters extra-fast. Also, still beta-less over here, so if anyone wants the job, please PM me. I'll be happy to have any help. Now, onwards!_

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><p><em>"A new person is to me a great event, and hinders me from sleep.<em>

_I have often had fine fancies about persons which have given me _

_delicious hours; but the joy ends in the day; it yields no fruit." _

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

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><p>2 - Shaking Things Up<p>

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><p>As it turned out, there <em>was<em> one fun thing about being trussed up in Giles' bathroom: when the man came downstairs to use his toilet late on Thursday night, he seemed to have forgotten that he had a 'guest' chained up in the tub. He hadn't bothered to turn on the overhead lamp, instead relying on light from the window to see what he was doing. However, Spike could see perfectly well in the near dark, so he took advantage of his host's compromised position and started making snide remarks about the man's physical attributes. Giles simply glared at him and drew the shower curtain shut. However, Spike had already gotten an eyeful of Giles' manhood, and closing the curtain did nothing to shut him up.

The sounds and smells of Giles making himself breakfast the next day woke Spike and made his stomach grumble discontentedly. Whereas Angel didn't eat or drink anything other than blood, Spike had a taste for human food. He was fond of booze, especially mescal, beer and brandy, but he also enjoyed hot cocoa - preferably with tiny marshmallows floating on top - crackers, peanut butter, Doritos, and all manner of other things. As a result, when he smelt the bacon, eggs and toast that Giles was preparing, he licked his chops.

Giles didn't enter the bathroom that morning, or otherwise acknowledge Spike's presence in his home. In fact, as soon as the breakfast dishes were done, his footsteps headed out the front door - which he then locked - and Spike heard the man's car drive off. He was so hungry that his mouth had started to water, and he began to wonder if Giles intended to feed him at all.

In fact, Giles had gone out to run a few errands, one of which involved stopping at the butcher's to pick up a few bags of pig blood. He stopped at the Espresso pump on his way there to use the coffee shop's restroom, thus avoiding another embarrassing episode in his own bathroom. His next stop was the hardware store to buy light bulbs. There was a windowless half-bath on the upper floor of his apartment, consisting of only a sink, a toilet, and an overhead light which had burned out some weeks ago. He had been using the downstairs toilet since then, but considering its new occupant, this seemed as good a time as any to replace the upstairs light. Of course, at some point he would have to shower, preferably without an audience. He shook his head. Surely Buffy could have picked a different room to use as Spike's cell. Did she even consider his study? He was hardly ever in it, after all, preferring to just use it as a storage area for most of the books which they had removed from the high-school library prior to blowing it up.

The study was a cramped space, already a small room with the walls brought even closer by bookshelves, and an old easy chair wedged into the back right hand corner. There was one window in the room, on the left side as you came in, which looked out onto a grassy side yard enclosed by tall hedges. The window was flanked by two tall, skinny book cases and a large flat-topped trunk sat in front of it, the lid of which drew level with the window sill. The trunk contained ritual items such as magic gourds, sacred sand, holy water, dried bunches of herbs, and larger talismans. The top of it was cushioned and it served as a comfortable window seat. Olivia liked to sit there and read when she visited. The room had a cast iron radiator directly opposite the window, giving the space a sort of symmetry. There was no desk in the study, just a small end table to the right of the chair with a lamp sitting on it, so the room didn't lend itself to research. It was far better suited to a solitary individual spending a quiet evening at home with a cup of bovril and a good book. The only place to actually spread out more than a few volumes and a notepad was his table in the main room, so most of the time he used the front room as a study area.

Buffy could have easily chained Spike to the radiator in his study. There was a thick pipe where the radiator was connected to the wall, and Giles planned on chaining Spike to that pipe as soon as possible. He seriously doubted that Spike was strong enough to either disconnect the pipe from the radiator or rip it out of the wall in order to free himself, and since there was a window which bathed that room in afternoon sunlight, Giles could easily use the threat of sun-induced immolation to guarantee Spike's cooperation. He wanted the vampire out of his bathroom as soon as possible, but he would need someone else there to cover Spike with the crossbow during the transition. Buffy was still out of town, and Willow would probably balk at the idea of menacing the now-helpless vampire. Perhaps he could enlist Xander's help.

When he returned home around noon, he heated one mug of the blood in his microwave and begrudgingly served it to Spike.

Early in the afternoon, Spike shifted in the tub, trying – in vain – to find a more comfortable position. There was no clock in the room, but Spike guessed that he'd been chained in the damned thing for at least eighteen hours so far without being able to move more than a few inches to either side, and his wrists were starting to cramp.

Giles had fed him hours before, although one mug full of blood didn't do much of anything to sate his hunger, and Spike was pestering his host for seconds. "Oi! Watcher! Hungry vamp in 'ere. You gonna bring me somethin' to eat, or do I have ta shout myself hoarse?"

Giles reached up under his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "One second!" He sighed heavily, shaking his head and muttering, "how did I end up being a damn turnkey for William the Bloody?"

A badly muffled snort came from the bathroom. "You think I like this set-up, Rupes? At least you can bloody well stand up an' move around. I'm stuck in this soddin' tub, relyin' on _your _good will for food."

Giles got up from his desk and headed back to the kitchen, trying to tune out Spike's litany of complaints while he fixed the vamp a snack.

"An' the blood you got for me isn't even human. Pig's blood," he made a sound of disgust. "D'you have any idea how wretched pig's blood is when you're used to eating humans? Might as well heat up a Wellington boot, smother it in Worcestershire sauce and call it a fillet mignon."

Giles had poured a second mug of butcher's blood and was removing it from the microwave when someone knocked on the front door. He quickly set the mug down, dropped a straw into it and shouted towards the door, "I'll be there in a minute." He walked briskly to the bathroom carrying the mug of blood in one hand and being careful not to let any of the liquid slosh over the rim. He stepped into the bathroom and put the mug into Spike's waiting hands. Giles suppressed a grin. With his hands bound together and held up to receive the mug, Spike almost looked like he could have been a street urchin from _Oliver Twist_. After all, he was having "some more", even though his method of asking for it had lacked any semblance of courtesy.

"Bout time..." Spike got the straw into his mouth and started greedily sucking down the blood. "Uhg," Spike pulled a face, but didn't spit any out. "You didn't get it warm enough. Again." The last word was shouted after Giles as the man walked out of the bathroom.

Giles headed back into the main room, not commenting on the vampire's lack of manners, and went to answer the door. He slid aside a small wooden panel in the door, right about where a peep-hole should be, and looked through the small grated opening at his guests. One could never be too careful in Sunnydale, after all.

Xander stood outside with a young woman, older than Xander by a few years but still college age. A large suitcase sat by her feet, as did a full-to-bursting duffel bag, and an overstuffed backpack hung from her shoulders. Her reddish brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, but quite a few rebellious bits of it had escaped the elastic and now hung down alongside her face.

When he saw who it was, Giles' face relaxed into a smile and he swung the door open. "Xander, Samantha. I was wondering when you would be coming by."

They both smiled at him as he stepped aside to let them come in. Samantha bent to pick up the duffel bag, and once she stood up again she adjusted the backpack by fidgeting her shoulders. Her smile seemed slightly forced and she shook her head at him fondly. "Rupert, how many times have I told you? You're the de facto dad of the Scoobies, Xand is my cousin. Call me Sam unless you want to be 'Uncle Rupes' whenever I'm in town."

Giles cringed at the nickname. Xander offered one of the suitcase handles to Giles, who took it, nodded and started to help bring the luggage in. "Of course, Sam. Did you have a pleasant flight?"

She gave Giles a look which he had seen often enough, especially after asking Buffy or Willow a question which they thought had an obvious answer. "I had a _long _flight, Giles. I've been flying and traipsing through airports since 9am Italian time. That's..." She paused in the entryway and took out a pocket watch, tracing around the edges of it with one finger and muttering to herself for a couple seconds before looking up again. "Seventeen hours. Counting the ride here from the airport, its closer to eighteen. And there were crying babies on the first flight. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to listen to a wailing infant for three hours? I mean, I like babies. They're cute... smelly at times, but on the whole I like 'em... but show me one person, just one, who has been trapped on a plane with one of those fleshy little noisemakers and never had the inclination to do something drastic to shut them up, and I'll call Ripley's Believe it or not."

Giles tried not to laugh, but he couldn't help letting out a dry chuckle. Being stuck on a flight with babies had always seemed like one of the nine levels of Hell to him, he had just never worked out which level it was. "And your semester abroad?"

She tapped one finger against her temple, "got lots of knowledge." Sam absently tucked a stray bit of hair behind her left ear as she moved out of the entryway. "It was great. I mean, starting classes in August was pretty annoying... and getting used to the routine at the Free University of Berlin was... interesting... but since the semester ended about a month earlier than school does here, I had time to go sightseeing and laze around." She put the duffel bag at the foot of the stairs and slipped the backpack straps off of her arms, setting it down next to the duffel and stretching her arms up once the bag was safely on the floor. She took her hair out of the ponytail and ran her fingers through it, trying to work out some of the simpler tangles. "I spent the last three weeks in Italy. It was marvelous."

Sam started walking towards the kitchen, and Giles shared a worried look with Xander. "Where are you going?"

She turned around with a puzzled expression on her face, gesturing down the hall with her thumb. "Traveling for almost eighteen hours. I'm tired, I'm cranky, and I need to use your bathroom." She gave Giles a searching look, furrowing her brow in concern. "Why, is something wrong with your bathroom?"

Giles glared as Xander, hissing at the young man even as he moved to head Sam off. "You didn't tell her?"

She shifted from one foot to the other in an exaggerated variation of the 'gotta-go' dance and started heading down the hall again. "...Cause if nothing's wrong with it, I've got a date with your toilet. And later, one with your shower."

Xander ducked his head, shuffling his feet apologetically as he muttered to Giles. "Uh, about that... wasn't really sure how to work it into the conversation. 'Hey, how was your trip? By the way, we have a hostage tied up in Giles' bathtub.' "

When Giles turned around from glaring at Xander, Sam had already disappeared down the hall.

Giles groaned to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "I expect this will be interesting."

Spike had been listening to their conversation while trying to choke down the rest to the tepid pig's blood. 'Days in the Scooby Life' wasn't nearly as riveting as 'Passions', but it was something to take his mind off of the miserable excuse for food that Giles had brought him. He didn't recognize the girl's voice, and he thought that he knew most of Buffy's school chums. She had said something about being Xander's cousin, which might explain why he hadn't met her. In any case, he didn't have too much time to wonder who this new person was and what she was doing there when the bathroom door opened and the subject of his curiosity walked in.

She wasn't a bad looking bird, not by a long shot. She had messy brownish red curls which spilled over her shoulders, wryly sparkling blue-gray eyes, and a pair of full lips which seemed permanently quirked in a half smirk. Her clothes, a worn-looking sweatshirt and blue jeans, were of a loose, comfortable sort suitable for travel and they were more than slightly rumpled. Since he wanted to surprise her with a quip the moment she came into the room, he only had a second or two to check her out, and between the limited time and baggy clothes, he wasn't able to see much. However, it seemed like she had curves in all the right places.

_Right then, time for some fun._

He let his mouth curl up into a charming smile and nodded pleasantly at the new arrival. "Hi there, luv. Now, don't mind me, just do what you came here to do. I promise, I won't make a peep." He leered up at her, enjoying the gobsmacked look on her face.

Sam pulled herself together pretty quickly, much to his disappointment. Her mouth opened and shut soundlessly a few times and she blinked, but that was about it. She licked her lips nervously, taking in at a glance the shackles and the nearly empty mug of blood which he was still holding, and then offered a shaky smile before stepping part way back into the hall. "Excuse me."

Giles appeared in the doorway along with Xander. She looked from one to the other of them, blinking expectantly. "Well? The last time I was here you weren't into chains or guys, Giles, so what gives?"

Xander suddenly seemed to think that a spot on the wall was endlessly fascinating, so Giles was left on his own to field explanations.

Giles gave a resigned sigh and aimed a disappointed glare at Xander. "We didn't know how to tell you. I assumed that Xander would have said something on your way here from the airport, but evidently-"

"He chickened out." Sam struggled against a face-stretching grin and playfully swatted at Xander's shoulder. "Why am I not surprised?" She glanced back into the bathroom, her expression turning curious. "So, who is he?"

"Ahem," Spike cleared his throat loudly enough to be heard from his spot inside the tub. "Can I just say that-"

"No," Xander cut him off. "Shut up."

Sam tsked gently. "Play nice, children. So, looks like I'll be using the half-bath upstairs for the moment. Meantime, could you..." she gestured vaguely at Giles and Xander, then at the bathroom. "'Cause I really need a hot bath. Alone," she added with particular emphasis.

"I don't mind having a little company in the tub," Spike chimed, sounding more amused than actually hopeful that any of them would entertain his offer.

Xander clenched his jaw and started to take a step towards the bathroom, clearly gearing up to give the vamp a piece of his mind, but Sam put a restraining hand on his arm and shook her head. 'Let me,' she mouthed silently.

She took a few backward steps until she was in the bathroom again and smiled politely at Spike. "I'm not that easy, handsome, and we haven't even been properly introduced. Just put your libido in neutral for a while."

"Be quiet, Spike," Giles all but growled.

"Wait," Sam moved back to the doorway and leaned through it into the hallway, staring at Xander and Giles in turn. "Spike? He's Spike?" They didn't have enough time to respond before she twisted in place to look at Spike, still leaning one hand on the door frame

"You're Spike?" She blinked, canting her head slightly as the info sank in.

He puffed up a bit at the recognition in her voice, a pleased look coming over his face. "That I am, luv," he all but purred, his voice deep and silken.

Sam let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh and narrowed her eyes at him appraisingly. "William the Bloody. _That _Spike?"

Spike's demeanor changed as soon as she recognized his name; several tiny, indefinable adjustments to his posture and expression which had the effect of making it seem that the chains and shackles were nothing more than minor inconveniences to him.

"Heard of me, then, have you?" A slow smile curved his lips upward and he drawled seductively "well, isn't that neat?"

"Yeah," Sam cleared her throat self-consciously, belatedly realizing that at some point she had drifted away from the door and was leaning one hand on the lip of the tub. She straightened her posture, removing her right hand from the tub and nervously jamming it into the back pocket of her jeans.

"A couple years back you were all the guys would talk about. It was always 'Spike did this' and ' Spike did that'." She smirked, a wicked gleam coming into her eyes as she relaxed again. "It got pretty annoying, actually. Last time I visited, before the whole Mayor-McSnake drama, I read up on you, just in case you came to town again."

Spike sat forward slightly, as much as he could without making the chains clank noticeably. "And?" he asked leadingly.

Sam turned a bit, but didn't try to hide her coy smile. "You've been a very bad boy, according to Giles' books and what the Scoobies have told me." His eyes followed her as she stepped closer to the side of the tub and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "A very interesting and naughty boy," Sam wrinkled her nose in mock-disapproval on the word 'naughty', mischief dancing in her eyes. She pulled back, smiling, and said in a regular voice, "but I've always felt that first hand experience is more reliable than research. Better to trust you own biases than someone else's, right?"

Spike sat back again while she spoke, taking the opportunity to let his eyes travel lazily over her body. She was shapely, that much was clear even with baggy layers of fabric in the way. Her frame, or what he could see of it under the slouchy outfit of sweatshirt and comfy jeans, was sleek and sturdy, not petite. She had smooth cheeks which colored slightly as he studied her. The loose sweatshirt made it hard to tell the size of her waist, but the swell of her bosoms and gentle curve of her hips weren't hidden by the extra cloth. _Busty and clever_, he thought. _Lethal combination, that._

Giles strode into the room, crossbow in hand, and leveled it at Spike's chest. Xander followed shortly, holding a pair of black metallic keys on a small ring. "Why don't you get settled upstairs, Sam, while we handle our guest's... relocation." Giles never took his eyes off the vamp.

"But I'm still... " she shook her head, quickly changing back to 'practical' gear. "He's chained up in your tub because why now?"

Giles sighed heavily. "There is some sort of... of paramilitary organization operating in the area. They seem to be hunting and capturing demons. Spike managed to escape from them, and he came to us for protection."

Sam gestured at Spike, looking incredulous. "Since when does he need protection? He's a big bad vamp. While we're at it, since when do you guys take prisoners?"

Xander started unlocking the shackles around Spike's ankles. "He says the commando guys did something to him, and now he can't bite people."

"Seriously?"

Spike lowered his eyes and gave a sullen nod of confirmation as Xander removed the shackles and untwined the connecting chain from his legs. "GI Joes buggered me up. Can't even fight to defend myself." He shrugged one shoulder. "Promised the Slayer's mates I'd tell 'em about the commando lab if they'd take me in."

Sam had moved aside to give Giles and Xander room to maneuver, and she had wound up leaning against the far wall shaking her head. "Okay, this is... Sunnydale logic, and my brain can't handle it without some sleep, or at least some food." She nodded at Giles. "We'll talk about dinner later?"

He answered without looking away from Spike. "Yes. After your bath."

Sam smiled. "I hope you're not too hungry, cause I'm gonna be a while. Lots of travel germs to get rid of."

Xander briefly looked up from unlocking the iron manacles on Spike's wrists. "I'll be doing deliveries for the Slicery later tonight. If you want, I can bring some stuff by here. We always have a few orders that don't get picked up."

Giles wrinkled his nose very slightly in distaste at the idea of discount pizza. "I appreciate the offer, but we have enough Thanksgiving leftovers to last a few more days."

Sam licked her lips and headed for the hallway again. "Not with me around. Your stuffing and gravy won't last the night, no matter how much was leftover. I'm planning on gorging myself."

Xander finished unlocking the last manacle, put it aside with the leg irons and pocketed the keys. "Alright, evil dead. Lets go." He grabbed Spike by one arm and tried to urge the vamp upright. Spike just fixed him with a withering glare and jerked his arm free, glowering rebelliously from pizza boy to retired librarian.

Giles set his mouth in a hard line and stepped forward menacingly with the crossbow. "Get up. Now."

"Sod off."

Sam rolled her eyes in annoyance at the macho interplay. She held up one hand to Giles, palm out in a placating gesture, and then turned her attention back to the vamp. "Spike?"

He broke off from the angry staring to glance at her curiously.

"If you don't get up, I can't take my bath. Now, you can sit there for a while just to be contrary, or you can cooperate with these guys and maybe catch sight of me wearing nothing but a towel." She smirked at him and then shrugged theatrically. "Your call."

The vamp smirked, his expression briefly softening as he looked at her, and then he stood. "See," he spoke to Xander as though in a Shakespearean aside, complete with sotto voice, "she is usin' her head. Empty threats and cheap intimidation don't work on me." He swung his hurt leg over the side of the tub, trying not to wince at the movement, and stepped onto the floor. "You lot should know that by now. I'm more of a quid pro quo sort of bloke."

Sam chuckled to herself as Spike headed for the doorway. "Don't you mean tit for tat?"

Xander grabbed the two sets of chains off of the floor and shook his head at her. "Don't encourage him, Sam." He left first, walking backwards to keep an eye on Spike, and Giles brought up the rear, forcing the grinning vampire to walk in front of him by pressing the arrow point between Spike's shoulder blades. Sam shut the door behind Giles as soon as he left the bathroom.

Giles briefly considered taking Spike to his study, but he felt uneasy about having the vampire out of sight in another room, especially one which was near the back door to his apartment. He decided it would be best to keep Spike in the main room for most of the evening, and then Sam could help him chain Spike to the radiator in his study. He urged Spike towards the living room, casually noting the vampire's limp. "Is that from one of the Chumash arrows?" The former Watcher's tone was curious, not concerned, and Spike bristled at it.

"Yeah. Slayer wasn't exactly gentle about removing it."

Giles furrowed his brow in confusion. "But you were shot nearly twenty-four hours ago. I was under the impression that vampires heal rapidly."

"We do, but only when we've actually eaten in the last month." He huffed. "'M so bloody starved that I'm healin' up slower 'n a soddin' human."

Xander pulled out the chair where they had tied Spike during the Thanksgiving fiasco and rooted around in Giles' weapons chest for the rope they had used. "Well, now you get to see how the other half lives."

"Yeah," Spike snarked. "Lucky me."

Giles urged Spike towards the chair, not missing a beat in their conversation. "You've already had two mugs of blood-"

Spike rolled his eyes and turned around, quickly losing patience with satisfying the man's intellectual curiosity. "Do you have any idea how much blood a vamp gets from killing one bloke? Ten pints, easy. Closer to eight if you're huntin' birds. That's sixteen cups, Watcher. I haven't eaten in _weeks. _You think two little mugs are gonna make a dent?"

"Yes, well," Giles cleared his throat uneasily, noticing that now the crossbow bolt was pressing into Spike's chest. "I had thought it was just because we are accustomed to seeing you in low light, but you do look, um, rather drawn."

Spike canted his head slightly and raised a challenging eyebrow. "That mean you're gonna heat me up a proper meal? Or are you lot just gonna keep shuffling' me from pillar to post, makin' snide comments about my little plastic problem and then expecting me ta tell you everything you want to know, coz this little fly is tired of bein' given vinegar. I won't be sharing' any info until I get some honey." He shook his head with a breathy laugh, glancing down at the crossbow. "And even if you lot start to treat me decently, how do I know you won't just dust me after I've told you what I know?"

Giles lowered the crossbow with a defeated-sounding sigh. "As long as you are here, Spike, you won't be harmed."

Spike glared at Giles, then nodded with false enthusiasm. "Oh, right, the way I wasn't left tied to a chair and shot full of soddin' arrows?"

"Uh-huh," Xander came back to stand by the couch, two coils of rope looped over his shoulder. "Like they could have untied you anyway while they were trying not to get shot."

The sound of a toilet flushing, followed by water running behind a closed door, caught Spike's attention, and he wondered if that meant Sam was almost done in the bathroom.

"Be that as it may," Giles relaxed his stance and shot Xander a don't-you-dare-bollox-this-up look, "Spike - we have no intention of killing a harmless... uh, creature... but we have to know what's been done to you. We can't let you go until we're sure that you're ... impotent -"

"Hey!" Spike narrowed his eyes, angry and stung by the unintentional, albeit predictable, dig.

Giles looked away and waved his hand apologetically. "Sorry, poor choice of words. Until we're sure you're, you're..."

"Toothless?" Xander supplied, grinning.

Spike turned to glower at him threateningly. "You better watch it, mate."

Xander scoffed, adjusting the rope on his shoulder when his movement caused it to slip. "What are you gonna do, huh? Scold me?"

Spike bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to get a hold on his temper. His leg hurt like hell and his other arrow wounds were throbbing angrily as well. The last thing he wanted was to add a migraine to the mix. Still, patience had never been a strength of his, and putting up with Xander's insults was getting harder. Maybe if he didn't hit the boy too hard...

He was distracted from his thoughts of possibly breaking Xander's nose by the bathroom door opening and Sam's footsteps coming towards them.

She walked out of the hall and came to stand at Giles' shoulder, a spot which happened to be within arm's length of Spike. He studied her briefly, glad for the distraction from Xander's witless jibes. It looked – and smelled – like she had washed her face, and he wondered why she had bothered to do that when she was about to bathe.

"So," she looked around at all three of them curiously, "I miss anything good?"

Xander gestured at Spike dismissively. "He's just whining about how we're not being nice enough to him." He shook his head, turning to give the vamp a hateful glance. "I can't imagine why that is. Maybe if you hadn't spent so much time trying to kill us."

Sam took a steadying breath, blinked a few times and shook her head, moving towards the stairs. "Oookay. I'm really too tired to deal with this crap, so..." She slipped her arms into the straps of her backpack and gestured at her luggage, "Xand, can you help me get my stuff upstairs?"

He shot a glance at Giles, who nodded that he didn't need Xander's help any longer. "Sure." He bobbed his head, putting aside the ropes in favor of grabbing her suitcase and duffel-bag.

She put a hand on his arm, giving a slight head-shake. "Uh, Xand, I don't need the duffel just now. It has dirty laundry, books and..." she shrugged tiredly, "nothing I need right now."

Xander just smiled, picking both up and starting to carry them up the stairs. "Its cool. I can get both."

She spent a moment watching Xander, apparently making sure that he wasn't having any trouble, and then turned to face Giles. "Play nice," she looked past him to Spike. "Both of you." Giles nodded his acquiescence and Spike just smirked at her. She responded with a faint smile of her own, sighed and turned to head upstairs, muttering to herself, "this month is gonna suck, isn't it?"

Spike watched her go, smirking to himself. Maybe coming to the Scoobies for help hadn't been such a bad idea after all.


	3. A Little Night Music

Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

Spoilers for 7X17 _"Lies My Parent Told Me"_

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><p><em>"Nothing that grieves us can be called little: <em>_by the eternal laws of proportion_

_a child's loss of a doll and a king's loss of a crown __are events of the same size."_

_~ Mark Twain_

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><p>3 - A Little Night Music<p>

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><p>Xander came back down a few minutes later to find Giles standing by the weapons chest and unloading the bolts from his crossbow. He looked around the room but didn't see Spike anywhere. He was walking over to Giles, about to ask where the vampire had disappeared to, when he caught sight of Spike standing in the kitchen and staring intently at something. Spike's back was to the stove and Xander could hear the microwave humming. Spike raised his head, aware that he was being watched, and aimed a glare at Xander, who nervously dropped his eyes and stepped over to stand by Giles' shoulder.<p>

"Look," Xander cleared his throat, glancing over at the kitchen again before continuing. "I've gotta get to work. You okay here?"

Giles quirked an eyebrow and smiled good naturedly at the young man. "I'll manage. Will you be coming by tomorrow?"

Xander shrugged, "If you need me. I have plans with Anya, but Sam wants to meet her, so we might drop by in the afternoon if its okay."

Giles nodded and put aside the crossbow, sparing a look towards the kitchen and his undead houseguest. "Fine, but please call first if you decide to stop by."

"Will do." Xander headed for the front door and watched Spike out of the corner of his eye as he grabbed his coat from the rack of hooks by the front door and shrugged it on. He shut the door behind himself, leaving Giles alone with Spike.

The microwave 'dinged' and Spike wasted no time in opening the door and bolting down the mug's contents. "Ugh, soddin' pig's blood," he groused before polishing off the mug.

Giles heard a door open upstairs and footsteps moving along the second floor hallway. He glanced over at the kitchen, where a now vampfaced Spike had just finished refilling his mug with butcher's blood and was moving to put it in the microwave. Reaching into the trunk for supplies, Giles put a stake in his left pocket, a bottle of Holy water in his right and tucked a largeish wooden cross into the waistband of his pants before heading towards the kitchen. He stopped by the breakfast bar and looked at Spike thoughtfully.

"I suppose it would be expecting too much if I asked you to reimburse me for the blood?"

Spike snorted, briefly taking his eyes off of the rotating mug in the microwave. "You suppose right, Rupes." He turned to look at the microwave again, watching the timer count down the seconds until his blood was warm enough to drink. "Don't have any money, an' if I did, I wouldn't give it to you. Protection and food for info, that was the deal."

Footfalls on the stairs caught Giles' attention, and he turned in time to see Sam coming downstairs wearing a grey hooded bathrobe. She had two towels draped over her left arm, and carried a small shower-caddy in her right hand which contained bottles of shampoo, conditioner, bodywash and a puffy object which vaguely resembled a sponge. He turned back to see that Spike was staring at the young woman and practically licking his chops. This was possibly due to the fact that the hem of her bathrobe fell to just above her knees, and each time she took a step down, a generous portion of her forward-most thigh was briefly visible. On the plus side, the vampire had shifted back to human face.

"Spike," he addressed the vampire in a low, menacing voice without looking at him, "if you do anything, _anything _to harm this young lady, I will -"

"Can it, Watcher. Couldn't hurt her if I wanted to." The microwave dinged and he removed the mug of blood, taking a swig and making a face afterwards. "Y'know, I thought heatin' it up enough would help it taste better," he shrugged, grimacing at the lingering taste, and stared at the mug in annoyance, "but it doesn't do a damn thing."

Sam came closer, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen and smiling pleasantly at both of them. "Giles, I'll probably be about half an hour, if you were wanting a timeframe for getting the food ready." She looked at Spike and the smile faded slightly. "Erm," she gestured awkwardly at her own face with her towel-laden arm, "You've kinda got a blood-mustache going on." Sam adjusted her hold on the towels to allow for more gesturing. "Now, if you could pull off the handlebar look I'd be impressed, but as it is the look is kinda sloppy." The critisizm was greatly softened by her lop-sided smile.

He licked the blood from his lips, furrowing his brow slightly and wiping away some of the 'mustache' with his thumb. Spike stepped towards her, the mug in his hand forgotten as he regarded her curiously. "You're not afraid of me?"

She shrugged, "sorry, I'm not," and broke eye contact to stop the belt of her robe from coming loose. Sam looked up again, lop-sided smile still in place. "I mean, I'm more useful in a fight than Willow is, so if you couldn't kill her, I figure you can't kill me." She shrugged one shoulder and fidgeted, trying to gauge his reaction.

Spike shifted his weight to his rear foot, canting his head at an angle and studying her curiously, but not speaking.

Her expression turned apologetic and she glanced at Giles for guidance, but he offered none, so she focused on Spike again. "No offense."

He kept staring at her wordlessly, assessing her, and finally Giles cleared his throat to break the uncomfortable tension. "I'll get everything ready, Sam. Why don't you start running your bath."

She nodded and continued down the hall, disappearing into the bathroom.

Spike watched her go, listening to her heartbeat past the sounds of running water as she started filling the tub. He smiled to himself as he looked down the hall after her. Despite her bravado, her heart was beating faster than it had been when she first came downstairs. He wasn't sure if that meant she was indeed afraid of him, but it gave him something to think about as he headed out to sit on the couch. He limped slightly along the way, pressing a hand to his hurt leg, and when he finally sat down he propped his left foot on Giles' coffee table. He was raising the mug to his lips again, warm pigs blood was definitely more palatable than cold, but not by much, when the blood he had wiped off with his thumb caught his attention. He considered his bloodied thumb for a moment and then licked it clean, quickly moving on afterwards to finish the mug.

"Interesting girl," he commented to Giles.

Giles moved into the hall and frowningly regarded the bathroom door for a few moments. "Yes, she is." He shook his head and continued into the kitchen. "Oh for god's sake!"

Spike cringed inwardly, but appeared unconcerned by the outburst. "Problem, Rupes?" He set the empty mug aside on an end table by the couch and his eyes lit on the remote for Giles' tv. He switched the set on, smiled to himself and settled in to watch telly.

Giles' angry muttering moved out of the kitchen and towards the couch where Spike sat happily channel surfing. "By any chance were you planning to tell me that you spilled blood all over the floor in front of my stove?"

Spike shrugged, not looking away from the tv as he spoke. "You found it, didn't you? Now go on," he made a shooing motion with one hand. "Take care of it."

The man's jaw clenched and he closed his hand around the bottle of Holy water in his pocket. "I refuse to spend the duration of your stay cleaning up after you and playing nursemaid. It's your mess - "

"You think I wanted to spill it?" Spike made a disgusted sound and finally looked up at Giles. "It's _food,_ you berk. _My_ food. I don't wanna waste any of it," he paused, running his tongue along the outside of his teeth. "No matter how foul it tastes. The bag slipped in my hand when I was pouring, 's all."

He shifted uneasily in his seat and hissed in pain when the motion jostled his hurt leg. Since he'd been starving he wasn't at full strength, and combined with his injuries and fatigue from being on the lam for almost a week, his coordination was pretty much shot. The bag hadn't actually slipped. His hands were shaking so badly that when he tried to pour out, most of the blood had landed on the floor instead of in his mug. Not that he was about to tell Giles that. He didn't trust the man to care, let alone help, so he kept the truth to himself.

"An' seein' as I'm still full of arrow holes, I'm not about to crawl around on your floor with a sponge. Just clean it up like a good little white hat an' leave me be."

Giles closed his eyes for a moment, slowly counting to ten, and glared at his houseguest. "Fine," he spat, grabbing Spike's empty mug from the end table. "Just be more careful from now on." He stalked off, heading down the hall to grab cleaning supplies.

Spike watched him go, mildly surprised that the man hadn't put up more of a fight, then shook his head a tiny bit and turned his attention back to _Dharma and Greg._

The show went to commercial a few minutes later. "Figures," Spike grumbled, "Rupes an' I prolly had our verbal tussle durin' most of the set-up for this episode. I hate missin' the set-up." He glared at the telly, annoyed at the universe in general, but for the moment he focused his displeasure on the abrasively cheerful Meow Mix jingle. He stabbed the 'mute' button with his thumb and sighed, briefly wondering if this was what his unlife would be like for the foreseeable future. He only wondered about it briefly because as soon as he caught himself sounding like the maudlin version of his grandsire, even for a moment, he growled at himself. No matter what had happened to him, and no matter what might happpen to him down the line, he flat out refused to start acting or even thinking like Peaches.

Spike blinked at the tv, hoping the commercial break would end soon, and absently listened to the sounds of Giles mopping the floor. The man didn't grumble or mutter while he went about it, so the only thing to be heard was the whispering of paper towels wiping up the mess, followed by the faint slap of a wet sponge hitting linoleum. A different sound caught his attention, and this one was much more pleasant to listen to. It was Sam, and she was singing in the bath.

"_Upon one summer's morning, I carelessly did stray,  
><em>_Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay,  
><em>_Conversing with a bouncing lass, who seem'd to be in pain,  
><em>_Saying, William, when you go, I fear you will ne'er return again."_

She had a warm, clear voice which echoed pleasantly off of the tiled floor and walls, giving the sound a slightly ethereal quality. Spike frowned thoughtfully as he listened to her, forgetting about the tv for the moment. When she first saw him and recognized his nom de guerre, she had also called him by his alias, William the Bloody, to confirm who he was. He idly wondered if it was a coincidence that the sailor mentioned in the song shared his given name.

"_His hair it does in ringlets hang, his eyes are stormy blue,  
><em>_May happiness attend him as long as he stays true,_  
><em>From Tower Hill, to Blackwall, I will wander, weep and yearn,<em>  
><em>All for my jolly sailor bold, until he does return."<em>

The tv show came back from commercial, so he hit the mute button a second time and canned laughter spilled from the speakers. By now Spike was more interested in listening to Sam's singing than he was in watching tv, but he had noticed Giles watching him when Sam came downstairs. The man had seemed tense and uneasy about how much attention Spike was paying to Sam. Add in the fact that Giles had threatened him soon after, and Spike figured the safest bet was not to pay too much attention to Sam when Giles was around. Or at least not to be too obvious about it. He turned the volume on the tv down slightly so he could hear Sam better, but kept it loud enough to preserve the illusion that he was focused on the show.

"_Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be  
><em>_Who love a jolly sailor bold that ploughs the raging sea,  
><em>_While up aloft, in storm or gale, from me his absence mourn,  
><em>_And firmly pray, arrive the day, he home will safe return._

"_My name it is Maria, a merchant's daughter fair,  
><em>_And I have left my parents and three thousand pounds a year,  
><em>_My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold,  
><em>_There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold."_

The sound of something landing in a bucket of water came from the kitchen, and Spike turned around in time to see Giles put a towel on the floor. The man shook his head, but didn't seem annoyed as he finished up drying the now clean floor. "Sam?" he called, "why are you singing an old sea-song?"

Spike heard her chuckle softly before she raised her voice to reply; "I really don't know. Just in the mood for ye olde music. Besides, its easier to sing that kind of thing and sound good than to do a solo vocal version of rock or jazz. And for my next selection..." She trailed off, splashing happily, and Giles winced, muttering something under his breath about how he hoped that she wasn't getting the bathroom floor too wet.

"Of course," she rejoined, "maybe the sea-songs are just because I'm in water."

Spike smiled to himself, amused by her antics and curious to see what she might do next. "What are you singin' next, luv?"

First she replied with more laughter, then said, "one of the oldest songs I know," swiftly following it up with a sweet, sad melody.

"_Early one morning just as the sun was rising  
><em>_I heard a young maid singing in the valley below;  
><em>_Oh, don't decieve me, oh never leave me  
><em>_How could you use a poor maiden so?"_

Spike drew in on himself, unconsciously hunching his shoulders and pressing his eyes shut. He had recognized the song before she even finished the first line. It was something his mother used to sing to him before he was turned, and he had even given her a music box which played that melody for her fortieth birthday. She had come out of the shadows in the drawing room, holding that music box the night she had risen. That was just before... before things went very wrong. More wrong than a fledge turning his consumptive mother in a misguided attempt to save her life. He hadn't heard the song since that night, having smashed the music box soon after dusting his mother, and hearing Sam sing it... he really didn't know what to feel. It brought up bittersweet memories, most of them extremely painful and confusing.

"_Remember the vows that you made to me truly,  
><em>_Remember how tenderly you nestled close to me.  
><em>_Gay is the garland, fresh are the roses  
><em>_I've culled from the garden, to bind over thee._

_Here I now wander alone as I wonder  
><em>_Why did you leave me to sigh and complain.  
><em>_I ask of the roses, why should I be forsaken,  
><em>_Why must I here in sorrow remain?"_

He gave his head a slight shake, eyes still closed, and tried to ignore the painful memories he associated with that song. "It's just a bloody folk song," he muttered to himself. "No call to get riled up about it." It had been so long since he had heard it that he had forgotten the lyrics after the first verse, and hearing those verses now he couldn't help but think about how things had ended with Dru. He growled to himself, annoyed by the fact that he was casting himself in the role of a forsaken maiden.

"I'm not some bloody heartbroken sap. I'm _not_!"

He glanced back at the kitchen self consciously, wanting to know if Giles had noticed him talking to himself, but Giles seemed oblivious to anything outside of the kitchen. The man had finished cleaning up and was taking various containers of food out of the fridge, setting them out on the counter in preparation for re-heating their contents. Spike had made no offer to help get dinner ready, which was hardly surprising, really, and Giles was busily going about his business; putting pots of leftover mashed potatoes, stuffing, and gravy on the stove, and reheating turkey cuts in the oven.

Spike relaxed against the couch cushions again, still feeling conflicted, and, cranking up the volume on the tv, he tuned out Sam's singing and tried to focus on the tv show. The episode seemed to be about the two fathers in law trying to play golf together, and the silly interplay between a burned-out hippie and a Republican fat-cat was amusing enough to distract him. By the time the end credits were rolling, he felt a bit better.

He heard a door open down the hall, followed by wet footsteps trailing towards the living room, and he turned to look. Sam was wearing her bathrobe and had her hair done up turban-style in a towel. A few stray drops of water were snaking their way down her legs to drip onto the floor. She had stopped in the kitchen doorway and was commenting to Giles about the lovely smells coming from his stove.

"Well, actually Buffy deserves the credit for how well it all turned out. I provided some assistance, but she did most of the cooking."

"Really?" Sam sounded surprised. "Wow, I didn't think she knew one end of a spatula from the other."

Spike smiled, letting his eyes rove over her body. "Slayer's full of surprises."

She turned and grinned at him when he spoke. "So, did you enjoy my singing?"

He shrugged, carefully maintaining an air of indifference. No need to tell her that she had picked possibly his least favorite song in the world. "You have a good voice, luv. I was payin' more attention to the telly, but what I heard was nice."

Her mouth turned downwards in a thoughtful frown. "Thanks, I guess." She came towards the couch, studying him closely enough to make him uncomfortable. "I know that you were from Victorian times, so I guess I'd hoped that you might enjoy a little nostalgia."

Spike set his shoulders, turning to face the tv again and trying to sound nonchalant. "Don't really go in for that, pet, but thanks for the thought." He glanced back at her when she didn't reply after a few moments, and found that she was studying him through narrowed, calculating eyes.

"Didn't you like the songs?" She sounded curious, and perhaps a bit put out by his lack of enthusiasm.

"They were fine, I guess. Just not my taste." He flipped to another channel, then smiled to himself and looked at her side long. "Give me the Ramones or Sex Pistols any day."

She nodded to herself, he wasn't sure why, and removed the towel from her head. Wet curls fell down around her face and over her shoulders, and she draped the towel formerly known as turban over her right arm. "Ok, if you don't want to talk, I can't make you. I just..." She sighed, shoulders slumping in a defeated way. "You were pretty cheerful when I went in there," she indicated the direction of the bathroom with her thumb, "and when I started singing, but now you seem kinda down." Sam shrugged and headed for the stairs, pausing once she had gotten to the first landing. "Was it..." She abandoned the half formed question and shrugged again. "I dunno. See you at dinner?"

Spike watched her carefully as she went, wondering if she had suspected the source of his melancholy. Well, even if she did, it hardly mattered. Nothing a little misdirection couldn't fix. An evil glint came into his eyes when she mentioned dinner. "Don't suppose you want to be my main course?"

Giles' face tightened and he glared at Spike, gearing up to give the vamp a piece of his mind, but Sam just smiled ruefully and shook her head. "Sorry, you're stuck with bagged blood. It's a pity, really. I've been told that I'm quite tasty." She chuckled at her own wit and was about to press on when she caught sight of Giles' disapproving frown and tried to force the smile from her face. She failed miserably at that and continued up the stairs more quickly, teasing Spike along the way. "You need to stop flirting with me," she sounded anything but sincere, and the fact that she was grinning like mad further proved that she didn't actually resent his comment. She shook her finger at him in a faux-scolding gesture "…and stop staring at my neck."

Spike grinned wolfishly. "Wasn't your neck I was lookin' at, pet." He was pleased that the provocative comment had worked to change the topic and pleasantly surprised that not only had she not been offended by it, but that she had actually furthered his innuendo. Maybe not all of the Slayer's friends were the insuffrable goody-two-shoes type.

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><p>Endnote: For you finicky people (and I am one of you), the inclusion of <em>Dharma and Greg<em> and "My Jolly Sailor Bold" are not anachronistic. D&G premiered in 1997, and the song which PotC 4 drew inspiration from first appeared in 1891 in a book by John Ashton, entitled _Real Sailor Songs _

Sourceage: .

I changed "black as sloes" in the second verse to "ocean blue" so it would fit Spike better, and tweaked the second line of that verse to preserve the rhyme sceme. I didn't include the full lyrics because this isn't a songfic, but the page linked above has the full text of the song.


	4. Dinner and Bondage

Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. You guys make me happy and that keeps my muse working full-tilt. A gold star for anyone who got the reference to 'Sabrina the Teenage Witch' in chapter 3._

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><p><em>"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, <em>

_Read a good poem, see a fine picture, and,_

_If it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words." _

_~ Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe_

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><p>4 - Dinner And Bondage<p>

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><p>Giles busied himself with setting the table while Sam was upstairs, and Spike kept channel surfing, pausing when he found a show that struck his fancy. After a little while he found a wickedly funny show about the inner workings of a fictional fashion magazine called 'Blush'. He particularly enjoyed the antics of a character named Dennis Finch, whose sarcasm and acerbic wit appealed to him.<p>

Spike heard Sam moving around upstairs and idly wondered what was taking her so long. He could hear her humming to herself and thought that he recognized the melody as part of Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Suite. He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. The girl certainly loved music. That much was obvious. He frowned to himself. If only "_Early One Morning_" wasn't part of her repertoire.

Giles was checking on the leftovers, stirring, turning down burners and the like, when Sam's footsteps finally left her room and headed for the staircase.

She came back downstairs for dinner a few moments later wearing a blue lace-edged camisole and stretchy black sweatpants which flowed loosely below her knees. Unlike her earlier outfit, the thin and form-fitting fabric of this one showed off each curve to its best advantage, and Spike admiringly took in her shape. The robe which she had worn before her bath gave the ensemble a touch of modesty but didn't do much to hide her figure. She had womanly curves and a trim waist, reminding him a bit of 1950s pin-up girls. She wasn't emaciated – he couldn't see her ribs – and she wasn't chubby – no love handles – but somewhere comfortably in between.

"Very nice," he muttered to himself.

She caught him looking and smiled at him before heading for the breakfast bar. She got on one of the bar stools and leaned through the opening, resting her hands on the counter. "So Giles, need any help getting dinner ready?"

Giles shook his head, smiling. "No, just grab a plate, come on in and take as much as you want."

"'Kay." Sam nodded her understanding and slid off of the stool, turning to look at the table. She frowned at the place settings he had laid out and her brow furrowed in confusion. "Giles, I think you forgot something."

"Oh," he moved away from the stove and gave her a questioning look. "I did?"

"Yup." She nodded, gesturing at the plates and utensils on the table. "You only set it for two." She indicated Spike with a jerk of her chin, "but there are three of us."

Giles hung his head, taking a few slow, calming breaths before he looked up at her again. He spoke with strained patience, as though she was a small child he was tutoring. "Sam, Spike isn't eating with us. He isn't a guest."

"Oh?" She quirked one eyebrow challengingly. Still looking at Giles, she raised her voice slightly to address the vampire. "Spike, did the Scoobies capture you?"

He shook his head. "No, I came to them... for help," he added venomously.

She glanced over at him, and he wondered what she was up to when he read a few traces of cocky amusement on her face. "Uh-huh. And in return you offered to tell them about the paramilitary-whatsit, right?"

Spike tensed his jaw, curious about where she might be going with this. "I did."

Sam nodded, the confidence spreading out from her face to affect her posture and tone of voice. When she spoke next she didn't sound snotty, exactly, but supremely sure of the answer to her next query. "Giles, how likely do you think Spike is to answer any questions about what happened to him if you and the Scoobies insist on treating him like crap? I mean, he has no reason to tell you guys anything, and if you keep treating him badly, it makes perfect sense for him to stay quiet just to spite you. Plus, there's the whole you-can-stake-him-whenever-you-want issue, and he's gotta be wondering if you'll kill him right after he talks."

Spike blinked at her, canting his head slightly and standing up. It was his turn to be gobsmacked. Was she...? no, it didn't make any sense, but it sounded suspiciously like she was actually advocating for him. He moved over to stand near her and tentatively rested a hand on her shoulder. "Luv, what are you doing?" His voice was low, throaty and terribly uncertain.

She turned her head, looking up at him with a calm smile on her face. "I'm doing whats right."

He blinked some more, but didn't have a chance to fully process what she had said before Giles came storming into the main room. "Hold on, just hold on! How exactly is it the right thing to do? Considering all the evil he's done over the last century-"

Sam cut him off with a wave of her hand. "He came to you. He offered a fair deal which you accepted but have yet to fully honor, and, putting aside the whole moral issue, it's the smart thing to do."

Giles slowly shook his head. "Oh really? I'm afraid I don't see how coddling a murderer is 'smart'."

She gave an exaggerated, frustrated sigh. "If he could still kill, Willow would be in the morgue, so that's a moot point." She ignored Spike's indignant "Oi!" and went on. "The important thing is finding out about the commandos, and you guys are only gonna get info from him one of three ways." Sam ticked each method off on her fingers as she mentioned it. "Torture, trickery, or playing nice. He ran with Angelus for twenty years. Do you really think that the Scoobies could torture him more effectively than Angelus tortured you, cause I don't."

Giles stiffened, remembering the torture methods Angelus had used on him two years before, when the soulless vamp was trying to awaken Acathla. He also had a mental image of himself on Halloween, kicking the living crap out of Ethan Rayne, and Giles was forced to admit to himself that he didn't have the stomach for real torture, especially when the potential victim was physically incapable of fighting back. Also, Spike was easily as stubborn as Giles was, so even if they did manage to torture him, it wasn't likely that they would be able to break him.

He looked the vampire up and down before grudgingly admitting, "I see your point about the torture. However, you mentioned trickery?"

It was Spike's turn to tense up. His hand was still resting on her shoulder, and she must have felt it when he froze in place, because she flashed him a reassuring smile before turning back to Giles again. "Some kind of spell, probably a truth spell, but I think that's best left as a means to verify anything that he tells us willingly."

Giles frowned, shaking his head at her. "So you're relying on his willing cooperation?"

She shrugged, smiling up at him disarmingly. "You have a better plan? Anyway," she grabbed both plates from the table and moved into the kitchen, talking as she went. "We can finish talking about this over dinner. I'm starved."

Spike watched her go, a borderline awestruck look on his face, and then he hurried to catch up with her, limping slightly along the way. He hadn't been allowed to eat any of Buffy's Thanksgiving dinner, and he was looking forward to tasting it now. The food smelled lovely, and he was starving. Granted, he was starving for blood, not solid human food, but the sheer mass of it would still fill up his stomach for a while and help to temporarily sate his hunger.

When he came into the kitchen, he was greeted by sparkling eyes and an empty plate being playfully shoved at his chest.

"Thanks, luv." He took it with an almost shy smile and nodded his head at her. "For everything." He fiddled with the plate, adjusting his grip on it as he moved further into the kitchen. Considering how badly his hands were still shaking, he wanted to make sure he wouldn't drop the plate and give himself away. His hands only shook when he tried to hold or manipulate something for longer than a few moments, and the plate seemed to be getting heavier by the second. It was almost as though his muscles were on strike. He made a sour face then put the plate aside and let his hands drop to the counter, silently cursing at them for being so uncooperative.

"It's no problem. I just hope you go along with my plan, because otherwise I'm gonna look really stupid." Sam cast a warm glance over her shoulder as she stepped over to the stove and he followed, trailing a few steps behind her. "Do you want some more blood with dinner?"

Her tone was conversational, casual, even, and he shook his head at her in befuddled wonder. "Yeah. Thanks." He moved aside so she could get to the fridge and numbly watched as she took out a pint-bag and filled a coffee mug from it. Her movements were matter-of-fact, and she didn't seem disturbed by what she was pouring into the coffee mug. He shook his head again, just watching her for a little while. "Do this often, do you? Look after vamps?"

"Nope." She shook her head, smiling wickedly. "You're my first."

He chuckled at the innuendo and she handed the mug off to him, making the chuckle die in his throat. He was closer to the microwave, so it must have made sense to her, but the last thing he wanted was to spill even more blood on the floor. Not that he cared about making a mess on the newly-cleaned linoleum – he didn't give a shit about that – but he had a feeling that his explanation of 'it slipped' wouldn't fly a second time, and as hungry as he was he didn't want to waste any more blood. He nodded tightly to Sam and scowled in concentration once his back was to her, willing himself to get the mug over to the microwave without spilling a drop. He hated the fact that it only took him a few strides, and thus, only a few seconds to reach the microwave, and even then it was still a struggle for him to keep the mug steady. He swapped hands once he was in front of the appliance and put the mug in to heat it up for about a minute and a half, glowering at the rotating mug and hating that he felt so weak and unsteady. This was even worse than he'd felt when he'd gone crawling back to Harm after finding out that he couldn't feed any more, and then he'd had to lean against the wall of her boy-band-and-unicorn-splattered lair to stay on his feet. When he gathered his strength and tried to seduce her, he'd barely been able to lift the 120lb bint up and carry her a few yards to her bed. Normally, he could have easily hefted someone twice Harm's size and carried them across town without even thinking about it, but after being on the run and starving, the effort of carrying that bimbo the length of a room made him dizzy. Now he could barely lift a full coffee mug. It was pathetic.

When the microwave finally 'dinged' he opened the door a millisecond later, grabbing for the mug and gulping down the blood as fast as he could. Drinking it so fast helped; it almost felt like he was snacking on a human, if not for the pesky ceramic rim bumping against his lips instead of warm flesh, and bolting it down quickly meant that the sour taste didn't linger nearly as much.

He sighed happily, lowering the mug and shifting back to human features – he had vamped out while drinking – and grabbed a sheet of paper towel off of a roll-holder on the counter to wipe the bloodstache from his face before turning to face her again. The blood helped him feel a bit steadier and temporarily quieted the gnawing hunger, but that wouldn't last for long without seconds.

"Luv, can I get a refill?"

When he turned back to the stove again she was serving up helpings of stuffing and mashed potatoes onto one of the plates. "Sure," she said in mid-scoop, looking appraisingly at the size of the helpings. "Just one sec." She nodded to herself, apparently satisfied with the portion, put the stuffing spoon back into its bowl and stepped to the fridge, opened it, reached inside and held out a half-empty pint bag to him all in one fluid motion.

Spike smiled wide at her, crumpling the dirty paper towel in his hand and stuffing it into one of his back pockets. "Thanks, luv." He moved to take the blood, immensely relieved that the mug he'd just bolted down had steadied him as much as it had, and pleased that he was able to fill up the mug and bring it back to the microwave without fighting to keep his hands steady. He put the mug in and set the timer, turning back to see what Sam was up to.

While he was setting up the new mug, she had taken out a third plate and was putting mashed potatoes on it so that all three matched each other: there was a generous spoonful of peas wedged between a little mound of mashed potatoes and a slightly larger one of stuffing on each plate, with a pool of gravy atop each potato mound, making them each resemble miniature gravy-volcanoes.

Spike shook his head, slightly resenting that she was ladling out his food. She had already helped him when he hadn't been expecting it, and he would rather repay the favor than become further indebted to her, since he had a hunch that she wasn't the type who forgot those kinds of debts. "Bloody hell, girl. I can serve myself. You don't need to do that..." he reached for the spoon she had been using to ladle the gravy, but she jerked it away from his hand with a shake of her head.

"Please, I like being useful. Tell you what, though." He stared at her curiously, his expression urging her to go on. "You can get the turkey out of the oven. Three slices for me, please." She smiled brightly at him and he returned a more rueful version of the same expression.

"Alright," he sighed, grumbling softly. He grabbed a pair of oven mitts and slipped them on as he bent down to open the door. If he was quick enough about it, his hands wouldn't have much of a chance to start shaking again, and besides, the mitts were big enough to potentially hide any tremors. The microwave 'dinged', but he ignored it, instead focusing on getting the turkey pan out of the oven. The pan was easily the heaviest thing he'd tried to handle in a while, but he managed to get it onto the counter without any trouble.

While all this was going on, Giles just watched them from the dining area. Spike wearing oven mitts... it was certainly shaping up to be a strange evening. Considering everything he had ever read, seen, and been told about William the Bloody, he was more than a little shocked to see how civil and even helpful the vampire was being to the young lady in his kitchen. More flies with honey indeed. Still, he wasn't nearly convinced that Spike would willingly tell them anything useful.

Sam opened the fridge and took out a small foil-covered bowl which was half full of cranberry sauce. "Giles, how much of everything do you want?" Before he answered, she ducked down, rooting around in the lower cupboards for his gravy boat. When she found it, she straightened up again and started pouring gravy into it from one of the smaller saucepans on the stove. Once it was full, she set in on the breakfast bar and slid it through to the other side so Giles could take it without needing to enter the small and crowded kitchen.

"Gravy, for the table," she explained. "You want big portions or small of each?"

Giles shook his head even as he put the gravy boat on the table. "Sam, you really don't have to. You've been traveling all day."

"Yup, and this helpful burst of energy could wear off at any time, so take advantage of it while it lasts."

He sighed, giving in, and sat down tiredly on one of the bar stools. "Very well, I suppose. Medium helping for the potatoes, small for the stuffing, side of peas and two pieces of turkey to start, thank you."

"Okay." Sam nodded, turning around and removing some of the stuffing from Giles' plate, since he wanted a smaller portion than she had given him. Instead of putting the extra stuffing back into its pot, she added it to her own plate and grinned maniacally at the heaping pile o' stuffing, bending down to be almost eye-level with it. "You're mine now! Heh heh heh." She smiled, closing her eyes and sniffing the food euphorically. A few moments later the microwave 'dinged' again and she shook herself, snapping back into the moment. "I'm back."

She straightened up and glanced over at Spike, who was quirking an eyebrow at her as he took off the floral-patterned mitts, and she shifted self-consciously. "What? Like you've never talked to your food?"

"Well, luv," he chuckled, moving in beside her and adding turkey to the plate which Sam seemed to have claimed for herself. "My food can usually talk back."

"Fine," she sighed. "Point. Anyway, I'll finish dishing the turkey, so when you've had that blood, could you pass the plates over to Giles?"

Spike nodded as he stepped back to the microwave just in time to silence a second reminder beep. "Yeah." He grabbed the mug and drained it in one long pull. "Bloody horrible," he muttered to himself, wiping at his mouth with the crumpled napkin afterward.

Sam put two slices of turkey on each of the remaining plates and set to work stirring the cranberry sauce, which seemed to have congealed into a mini version of The Blob. She frowned at the bowl at she worked to break up the jelly-like mass into a more spoon-able consistency.

"Giles, you didn't add glue to this, didja?"

The two men shared a look as Spike pushed the plates across the breakfast bar, Spike managing to silently comment both on Sam's question and second it with the same expression. Giles stood and took two of the plates, shaking his head in fond exasperation at her as he carried them to the table.

"That's it. I give up." Sam decisively put the cranberry-blob-glue-sauce down on the counter and gave it a murderous look. "Helpfulness expiration date has passed. Time to eat." She headed out of the kitchen, glaring at the bowl again as she sat down at her plate and started digging in.

Spike grinned at her back as she left the room and grabbed a knife and fork for himself from the drying rack on his way to join her. He sat down across from her with his back to the breakfast bar, leaving Giles the seat at the head of the table. Giles met them both at the table and sat down, then shook his head and started to get up again.

Sam frowned at him. "Problem?"

He indicated the bowl of cranberry-glob still sitting on the counter. "Just be a second."

Sam smiled at him, waving for him to sit down again. "I got this." She narrowed her eyes at the bowl and leaned forward in her chair, pressing her lips together into a thin line. Spike threw a confused glance at Giles, but the man just nodded at Sam and went back to eating his peas.

"Luv, what are you..." Spike looked back at Sam and his mouth stopped working, probably because the bowl of cranberry-glob came floating past his head at roughly eye level. He blinked at the floating bowl as it came in for a gentle landing on the table, and then spent a few moments looking from Sam to the bowl and back again.

She was fighting with the spoon again, and she wasn't making any progress this time either. "Screw it," she muttered, and held out a hand over the bowl, and said softly but distinctly, "loosen." There was a slight glow of light from under her palm, focused around the bowl, and then she relaxed her arm. "That should do it." Now when she tried to take the spoon, it lifted out easily and she was able to spoon cranberry sauce onto her turkey slices with no trouble at all.

Spike stared at her, watching as she dished out cranberry sauce as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He shook his head, frowning at her in confusion. "How?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him and handed off the cranberry bowl to Giles. "Magic. How else?"

Spike sat back in his chair and studied her. "You're a witch, luv?"

Sam chuckled good-naturedly, glancing over at Giles who was – if such a thing is even possible – smugly eating his mashed potatoes. She grinned at Spike and shrugged. "I'm sure as hell not the Easter Bunny."

Spike shook his head again, still confused. Also, he couldn't help remembering that she had very casually mentioned using a truth spell on him, and if the bird was a witch, then she probably hadn't just been talking about hypothetically casting a spell on him. Oh no, she probably meant it, and he knew how wacky that kinda mojo usually was. If it went wrong, no telling what might happen to him. She'd been so bloody chummy with him and hadn't even bothered to mention 'oh, by the way, I'm a witch and I could cast a spell on you whenever I want.' Come to think of it, why hadn't she mentioned it? Was she just trying to get him to lower his guard and then _wham_, hit him with magical truth serum when he wasn't looking?

He growled softly, narrowing his eyes at her. "Why is this just comin' up now?"

She laughed and gave him a patient smile. "Well, it's not exactly the easiest subject to broach." Sam saw the distrustful way he was looking at him and sighed. "I've been here, what... three hours? Less? It didn't come up until now, okay." She sounded apologetic, sort of, and grumbled down at her food, angrily stabbing a piece of turkey with her fork. "Sorry if it bugs you, being around a witch." She glared up at him for a second, her expression angry and hard, and then dropped her gaze and brought the turkey-laden fork up to her mouth, bitterly muttering to herself. "I'll try not to get any witch-juice on you."

Spike's face relaxed and he let out a quiet huff of air. "No, luv. Doesn't bug me at all, long as you're not plannin' to do any mojo on me."

She sneered at him contemptuously, "well I'm _not_, okay?" Sam dropped her fork with a clatter, startling Giles, who up until that point had just been enjoying watching Spike squirm. Apparently, it hadn't occurred to him that Spike's reaction might upset Sam, and she was most certainly upset. She had pushed her chair back from the table and was running her fingers through her hair, fisting her hands in the curls.

Spike shot Giles a worried 'what the hell did I say?' kind of look, seriously thrown by her sudden change in attitude. Giles just smiled tightly and hurried to the kitchen, where he grabbed a few tall drinking glasses and started filling them up at the sink, throwing concerned, fatherly glances at Sam over his shoulder every minute or so.

"God, why does everyone get so fucking paranoid around me? Like you guys, you're twitchy as all hell, like you're expecting me to turn the pair of you into toads or something, just 'cause I'm angry." She dropped her hands from her head and started gesturing wildly. "Like I have no self control or something! Yeah, I have powers, but I don't just go around _using_ them on people. Only assholes with power do that, and yeah, I'm a bitch sometimes, but I don't _ever _cast on anyone unless they've _asked_ me to!"

Spike got up, wincing when the movement hurt his leg, and shifted to stand next to Sam's chair. He felt unaccountably responsible for how upset she was, and wanted to calm her down. Hell, she had stood up for him, after all, and aside from how confused and grateful he was about that, he knew that she wasn't likely to speak up for him again unless he smoothed things over and did her a good turn. People weren't exactly lining up around the block to help him, so he wanted to make damn sure not to lose the only real ally he'd found. He may have just met the girl a couple hours before, but even so he did have some experience dealing with upset, unpredictable women. He smiled ruefully to himself, thinking that maybe his time with Dru might not have been a total waste after all._ At least this bird isn't seein' rot that's not there._ He tentatively laid his left hand on her shoulder much in the same way that he had before, but this time he gave her a gentle squeeze.

Most of the tension and anger in her muscles left at the kind touch, and she looked sideways at him with a guarded expression. He leaned his right hip against the table and braced his right hand on the tabletop, trying to take some weight off of his injured leg while still staying close enough to keep his other hand on her shoulder. He'd always been able to get through to Dru if he touched her, kept his voice low and gentle, and explained himself calmly and honestly. He figured that if it worked on a vamp who was totally sack of hammers most of the time, it should definitely work on Sam.

"Luv, I didn't mean anything by it. Was just surprised is all." He threw a quick look to see if Giles was still in the kitchen and lowered his voice when Giles came out with the filled glasses, not wanting the Watcher to hear what he was about to say. "I'm not used to stayin' with you lot an' I'm... nervous, I guess. Harris and the Slayer just threaten and insult me, Watcher here either shoves me about or ignores me... you're the only one of the lot of 'em to treat me decent, 'cept Red, and she's not over here much."

Much to Spike's relief, she didn't comment on his admitting to being nervous, and instead just gave a shaky sigh and nodded her understanding. "And then you find out I'm a witch and you freak a little cause I didn't say anything before."

He bobbed his head sheepishly, smiling a bit, and glanced back to check on what the Watcher was doing. Giles was putting water glasses on the table, setting one by his own plate and one by Spike's while Spike and Sam talked. Spike frowned, briefly wondering why the Watcher had bothered to get a glass for him, seeing as the man thought of him as an annoyance, a burden, an irredeemable creature of evil not worthy of any consideration... He shook off his anger and focused back on Sam.

"Guess we're both sick of people expectin' the worst of us, eh, luv?"

Sam smiled, nodding again. "Yeah. I've had it up to here with the pre-judging," she held up a hand several inches over her head and he grinned. "Guess that's why I'm so stubborn about giving you a chance, 'cause I know how incredibly shitty it feels when people won't do that, and, hey, irony, 'cause usually when someone gets angry and frustrated about being treated badly because of prejudice, they end up doing exactly the kind of stupid crap that reinforces the prejudices."

Spike squeezed her shoulder again, running his thumb run back and forth over the top of her arm and letting his sheepish smile mature into a grin. "Well put, luv. You've got quite a good head on your shoulders." Something that felt suspiciously like happiness started to bloom in Spike's chest when her face lit up and she smiled gratefully at him.

"Thanks. I just figure with you and the Scoobies that I'll try to break the fun little vicious cycle of pre-judging and see if that changes anything." Sam laughed harshly to herself, rubbing her hands over her face and shaking her head. "You think I'm nuts now, right? Just snapping like that out of nowhere?"

Giles came over to stand on Sam's other side and put a glass of water in her hand. He stared at Spike thoughtfully, noting the vampire's hand on Sam's shoulder, and pursed his lips in disapproval. "Thank you for calming her down, Spike, although I suspect that she would have been able to do so on her own."

Spike tensed his jaw, but before a retort had formed on his lips he felt warm fingers curling around his left hand. He looked down in confusion and saw that Sam had reached up and was loosely holding onto the hand he had laid on her shoulder. She met his eyes, gave her head a single, stubborn shake and muttered, "break the cycle, remember?"

Sam took a few sips of the water and glared over at Giles. "Spike wasn't 'calming me down', Rupert, and please can the condescension. He apologized for jumping to conclusions about me, and explained that he only did it 'cause of how the Scoobies have been treating him, you know, expecting the worst of him?" She put the glass down and sighed tiredly, fixing Giles with a worn look. "The same thing that made me flip just now?"

Giles let out his own sigh and waved at the table. "Let's get back to dinner, shall we? We can continue this discussion while we eat."

Sam gave Spike's hand a friendly squeeze before letting go of it and flashed him a cheeky wink, nodding that they should do as Giles said. Spike nodded back his agreement, reluctantly let his hand drop from her shoulder and moved around to sit down in his chair again. Meanwhile, Sam scooted her chair close to the table and picked up her fork. After Spike sat down, he just blinked at Sam's plate, watching in awe as she polished off one of the turkey slices and made half the stuffing vanish before he'd even reclaimed his utensils.

"Christ, luv." He shook his head with a worried frown. "Stop to breathe once in a while or you'll choke."

Giles smiled as he raised his glass, took a sip and chuckled fondly at Sam. "Don't bother, Spike. When she's this hungry I often mistake her for a vacuum cleaner. Never seen her have a problem yet."

"Nice way to talk, Giles," she said around a mouthful of turkey. "Girls just _love_ being compared to machinery." She smiled, softening the sarcastic remark so Giles would know that she hadn't really taken offense.

Spike shook his head, watching her with undisguised fascination as he worked on his own meal. "Didn't think birds ate this much when there are blokes around."

Sam looked up indignantly from her plate, where she had apparently started to hide peas in her mashed potatoes. "I do when I'm hungry."

Giles had another spoonful of stuffing, eyeing her dubiously. "What are you doing?"

She shrugged, scooping up a forkful of potato/pea combo and bringing it to her mouth. She chewed the lumpy veggie mush and swallowed it before answering. "I don't like peas. Never have, really, but I was serving stuff on auto pilot and didn't think. If they're in the potatoes, I won't taste 'em as much."

"So Sam," Giles started, "did something happen?"

She looked at him blankly. "How do you mean?"

"Well, generally speaking you don't fly off the handle like that unless something upsetting has happened recently." He stared at her steadily, giving her the kind of look which let her know that he wouldn't be backing off until he got the truth from her. "Judging from what you and Spike were saying, can I assume it was something involving prejudice about witches?"

Spike looked over at Giles suspiciously. "Hold on, Watcher, how much did you hear?"

Giles turned and regarded him thoughtfully. "Enough to know that the two of you have more in common than I previously believed, and that you, Spike, are capable of being more patient and considerate than I had thought possible for an unsouled vampire," he dropped his gaze to the table and set to work cutting a bite-sized portion of turkey as he muttered, "especially considering all of our past dealings with you."

Spike's suspicious expression cleared away and he sat back, mouth slightly agape and blinking copiously. "Uh..." He shook his head slightly, glancing over at Sam to see how she was reacting to what Giles had said, and saw that she was nodding her approval with a slight smile. Spike knew what she wanted him to do; she wanted him to accept the compliments with good grace and ignore the insulting post script, but he couldn't do it. He still wasn't ready to trust Giles, not as much as he was starting to trust Sam, so he did the next best thing.

Spike plowed his fork into the stuffing and shrugged his cocky attitude back on like a favorite sweater. "Yeah, well, thanks, Watcher, but if you bothered to listen to me before now, you'da known that already..."

Sam sighed, and Spike could tell that she was disappointed with how he had decided to handle the matter, but he really couldn't do anything about it just then.

"Okay, you guys. Now hug."

They both turned to look at her sharply, Giles seeming scandalized and Spike with murder in his eyes. She just laughed, holding up her hands in token of surrender. "Kidding." She shrugged. "Both of your comments had parting shots, so I decided to tease you an eensey bit. Sue me."

Spike's murderous expression cleared away and he shook his head, giving her a faint smile and chuckling under his breath about how she was a "cheeky little thing" as he turned his attention back to the meal.

"Ahem." Giles shot her a no-nonsense paternal glare. "I was asking you if anything happened which might explain your sudden outburst."

Her playful mood evaporated and Sam dropped her eyes to the tabletop and sullenly picked at her one remaining piece of turkey, shooting occasional rebellious glances at Giles. "Yeah..." she angrily poked her fork at the potatoes, huffing out a quiet breath. "About a week before my flight back here."

Giles set down his utensils and wiped his mouth with the napkin which had been resting on his lap. "Well?" He leveled the same no-nonsense look at her that he had been wearing before, and this time Spike didn't interrupt because he was curious about what could have happened to uspet Sam.

She sent Spike an imploring look, but he just tilted his head and frowned a tiny bit. "If something happened, luv, you should tell the Watcher. Might be able to help." When Giles looked at him in surprise at the vote of confidence, he added under his breath, "First time for everything."

Sam fiddled with her knife, never looking up for more than a few seconds at a time. "Okay, so the Italian coven I was studying with had shown me this spell and I was trying it out in my hotel room. It went a little..." Her shoulders drooped and she set the knife down. "... Haywire. It didn't... it just went off the rails... and out of my room and down the hall in this big cloud with a bang. Everyone on my hall must have heard it, and in the rooms right above and below me, and someone pulled the fire alarm but I don't know why. I guess 'cause of all the smoke... but it was this horrible pea-soup color, not like regular smoke at all, and there were little squiggles of blue energy crakling through it." She sighed shakily, twisting a napkin in her hands and looking like she was seeing it all again.

Giles leaned forward with a shake of his head to rest a hand on her shoulder and offered a comforting smile. "That sounds disappointing, but-"

She closed her eyes and brushed off his hand. "No, that was just how it started."

Spike watched as she took a few steadying breaths before going on. He didn't notice the way her camisole rose and fell with each exhalation, or how closely it clung to the soft curves of her body. Nope, not at all.

Well, maybe a little.

"All the doors on the hall had opened because of the noise, and with the fire alarm going, everyone kind of collected in the lobby. It was the middle of the afternoon, so there were maybe a few dozen people, and they were all jabbering at each other, wanting to know what was going on. My Italian is good enough to know what most of them were saying... Some of them thought it was a prank, but the people on my hall saw the cloud and saw that it was moving away from my room, and a few of them recognized me..."

Giles' eyes had gotten huge, and he let out a quiet "Good lord."

Spike could hear that both Sam's and Giles' heart rates had sped up, and he could smell the worry pouring off of Giles. Sam didn't smell quite as worried Giles did, but she was obviously traumatized by what had happened. Usually, when Spike got a good whiff of fear off of someone it was almost like tasting an appetizer, and smelling all of the apprehension from the two humans should have made his mouth water, but this time it didn't. His eyes were glued to Sam, and the look of distress on her face kicked Spike's protective instincts onto high gear and he growled out, "Luv, did they hurt you?"

She shrugged listlessly and gave Spike a wan smile. "Not really. Scared the crap out of me. I mean, there weren't any torches or pitchforks and they didn't have time to figure out it was my fault or for things to get really ugly before the hotel manager's wife – who is really the one who runs things – calmed everyone down. She's in the coven that showed me the spell, and she explained away the cloud and the noises as being a maintenance thing and she opened the hotel bar early. Still, there were..." She crossed her arms and shrugged again, seeming to fold in on herself a little. "People were saying some really nasty things about witches... and foreigners, and it just..." she sighed shakily, taking a few deep breaths in an effort to calm down. "It was a bad day."

Giles sat back again, nodding, and smiled tightly. "Yes, well, at least you weren't hurt." He patted her arm and turned back to his plate, then he paused with his fork poised in midair and blinked at her in confusion. "Why did she open the bar?"

Sam raised both her eyebrows and smirked, polishing off her glass of water. "Memory-altering spell. Everyone who took one of the free drinks just remembered it as a false alarm, and she made sure that everyone on my hall had a drink. She also showed me what I did wrong, later that evening, and how to do the spell without fouling it up, so there won't be any more boom-y cloud-thing incidents."

Giles got up from his seat and took Sam's empty glass to refill it in the kitchen.

Seeing as he still wasn't comfortable letting his Big Bad guard down around Giles, Spike waited until Giles was out of the room to reach across the table and pat Sam's hand reassuringly. "I'm glad she stepped in, luv. Crowds can turn ugly. People are okay on their own, you can handle 'em easy enough in the ones an' twos, and smallish groups are alright, but in a mob?" He shook his head sagely. "In a mob, people are dumb, panicky dangerous animals. Almost lost Dru to an angry mob." He flashed her a tender smile and sat back, pulling his hand away before Giles returned to the table.

Sam was either oblivious to the fact that he was trying to keep up appearances in front of Giles or intentionally trying to sabotage his efforts, because she smiled back at him fondly as Giles was sitting down. "Thanks for the concern, Spike. Sometimes I just hate people. You know?"

"Yes," Giles handed back her refilled glass and sat down again, rolling his eyes and commenting archly, "People can be such a bother."

She shook her head at him fondly, "Fussy, fussy," and patted his arm. "Thank you for the water, Giles."

Spike tensed, frowning to himself as Giles sat down. _Hang on, why the bloody hell did I mention Dru? I'm not with her, bloody well never hope to see the daft bird again, 'cept maybe to stake her. I'm a lone wolf now, remember? '__Sole survivor,__ n__o more partners,' that whole bit. Ringin' any bells, Spike? That's the only reason I stayed with Harm: easy, convenient sex and no danger of getting' burned like I was with Dru, 'cause you have to actually __**care **__about a bird for her to hurt you. Not gonna let that happen to myself again. I'm strictly the love 'em and leave 'em type from here on out._

A slight movement from Sam caught his eye and he looked over at her again. He concentrated on her vitals, listening for her heartbeat and taking a surreptitious sniff of the air. He couldn't help smiling when he heard her heart beating out a normal rhythm and smiled wider when he didn't get even the slightest whiff of fear from her. Again, he caught himself feeling glad that she was alright and schooled his features into a vague expression, savagely trying to squash the warm, fuzzy feelings he got when Sam turned to him and smiled, tipping her head slightly to one side as she looked at him.

"You okay over there, Spike? You're not saying much."

He nodded tightly, forcing a smile. "Yeah, pet. Go on an' tell us more about your trip. Maybe pick a happier story, yeah?"

She gave him a grin and he matched it, trying not to let on about what was going on in his head. She started telling a story about the first time her host-family's daughter had taken her out to a German bar, and she was just getting to a part about trying to flirt with a local guy in her fractured German when Spike's stomach dropped to the floor.

_Wait. When did I start calling her 'pet'?_

His eyes went wide as he watched her talk, and he took a completely unnecessary gulp of air, followed by a few swallows of water to steady himself, holding the glass so tightly in his hand that it almost shattered, but it was no use. She smiled at him and the warm fuzzies returned, and this time they were the un-squashable kind. Spike shot a longing look at the bookshelf where Giles kept his Napoleon brandy and closed his eyes.

_Oh balls._


	5. Compromise

Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! Sorry about the longituede between updates – RL has been kicking my butt for the past few months. Fear not, this WIP will continue to be updated until the whole story has been told, but I probably won't be able to update every week. Glad so many of you are sticking with me and enjoying this story. I'm sure having fun writing it!_

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><p><em>"Like all the best families, we have our share of eccentricities,<em>

_Of impetuous and wayward youngsters and of family disagreements."_

_~ Elizabeth II, Queen of Great Britain and Northern Ireland_

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><p>5 – Alone at Last<p>

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><p>The rest of dinner was quiet and surprisingly civil, probably because instead of critisizing either Sam or Spike, Giles just watched how they interacted. Occasionally he would contribute to what they were talking about, and when he did, he was surprised yet again by how well Spike was behaving. He thought that Spike's good behavior couldn't possibly last, but it meal was nearly finished when the phone rang. Giles got up to answer it, glancing back at Spike and Sam as he went. He still wasn't thrilled about leaving the vampire untied for such a long stretch of time, and the fact that Sam was clearly fascinated by him, if not smitten, didn't help matters. He shook his head in a quick, frustrated gesture before moving into the kitchen and picking up the phone.<p>

"Hello?"

"_Hi, Giles_." Willow's voice floated out of the receiver. "_I've been researching locator spells. You know, something that might help me find Oz. Do you still have the Black Chronicles at your place, 'cuz I think there's a ritual in there that might help._"

Giles turned so that his back was facing the dinner table, his concern for the young wicca temporarily overriding his worry over what might be going on in his living room. "Willow, I'm not sure that you should be doing spells right now, especially ones involving Oz."

"_C'mon, Giles. It's just a little locator spell._" He could hear her pouting on the other end. "_It's not like I'm doing anything dangerous._"

He closed his eyes, took a slow breath in to calm himself and then released it just as slowly. "Harnessing magickal energies is not something to be taken lightly, Willow. Add to that the fact that you are still in the process of grieving Oz's departure-"

She cut him off quickly, sounding triumphant. "_So knowing where he is will cheer me up and make it easier for me to wait for him to come back._"

"NO." Giles shook his head, starting to lose his patience. "The knowledge _may _comfort you if the spell works properly, but as of right now your energies are too unfocused to safely work any magick. There is also a _very _good chance that the spell would go wrong due to your emotional upset, and that would be dangerous for any number of people, yourself included."

"_But Giles, what harm could a locator spell possibly do-_"

A movement at the corner of his eye drew Giles' attention, and he glanced over to see Sam standing at his elbow. She held out a hand for the receiver and smiled up at him with worried eyes. "Let me talk to her."

Sam was another fledgling wicca, but she seemed to have a more intuitive understanding of magic than either Willow or Giles did. They tended to research specific spells and rituals without delving too much into the rules of quasi-physics which governed the way that magick worked, but since Sam was only a part-time Scooby and didn't have to deal with weekly crises year round, she had the luxury of approaching the subject of magick from a more philosophical angle. Magick ran in Sam's family – not on the Harris side, but it was there and several generations strong – so she had grown up around magick and learned at a fairly young age how it ought to be used. Sam and Willow were also of an age and had grown up together, so while Willow might dismiss Giles' concerns on the basis of him being a cautious old fogey, she almost always took Sam's warnings to heart.

He handed the phone to Sam and she grinned up at him, nodding slightly and giving his arm a friendly pat. "Will? It's Sam. Yeah, my flight was ok. Look, I overheard Giles' end of the conversation and – " she sighed as Willow cut her off and then gamely went on with what she had started to say.

"No, Will. I agree with him. It sucks that Oz left, and it sucks even more that he was with Veruca... even if some of his reasons made sense to him at the time, but you really shouldn't be messing with big mojo until some time has passed." She shot a cheeky look at Giles and smirked. "At least not without a secondary. I was thinking Giles could bring the books you'll need, you guys can go to the Magic Box for supplies, and then he can help balance your energy during the casting."

Confident that Sam would take care of things, Giles had taken a few steps back towards the table after he handed her the phone, intending to finish off his potato and possibly start clearing dishes away, but at Sam's suggestion he froze in mid-stride. His shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes, looking the very picture of put-upon annoyance when he glanced back at her over one shoulder.

"Did you have to suggest that?"

She just smiled sweetly at him and spoke into the phone. "Hang on, Will. Now I've gotta talk _him_ into it." Sam covered the receiver with one hand and leaned her hip against the kitchen counter, waiting for Giles' rant with an expectant smirk.

"How do you know that I don't have plans tonight? You can't just assume that I'll drop everything – "

"Yeah," Spike opined. "Masterpiece Theater might be on telly."

Giles turned to glare at the smirking vampire and pointed an angry finger at him. "You stay out of this."

Spike's smile didn't falter, in fact it grew as he dug back into the food on his plate.

"Giles," Sam's voice oozed patience. "If you're not there, she's probably gonna go ahead and do some spell anyway, even if she promises not to over the phone. If you go and help her, she'll have supervision and guidance instead of flying solo, and you being there could stop her from messing up the spell. You said it yourself; she might hurt herself or someone else by accident. You want that on your conscience?"

Giles took off his glasses, cleaning them furiously with a handkerchief. He 'hmphed' in fine grumpy fashion, but when he looked over at her again there was a rueful smile on his face. "Of course not. I am, however, beginning to understand why the Athenians sentenced Socrates to death."

Sam beamed at the jibe, removing her hand from the receiver but never taking her eyes off of Giles. "He's in, Will. Keep researching, but don't do any chanting till he's there. Ok? I'll see you tomorrow and we can catch up. Love you too, Will. Bye."

She twisted away to hang up the phone, then leaned back against the counter with her arms crossed, smugly grinning up at Giles. "You'd better get your stuff together. She'll be impatient."

Giles shook his head at her, fighting a smile. "I suppose a compromise is, by definition, a solution that no one is wildly enthusiastic about." He glanced at the cluttered table and frowned. "What about -?"

Sam gestured vaguely at the dining area with a shrug. "I'll handle it. My part of the bargain anyway: free room and board for being Suzie home-maker." She moved to sit down again, giving Giles a fond look along the way. "Just make sure Willow's okay and nothing goes ka-blooey."

Giles nodded, making a bee-line for his books on witchcraft. "You know," he tossed over his shoulder while skimming the titles. "For a moment there you almost had me convinced that you had finally metamorphosed into a rational, responsible young adult."

"Oh, god no. We can't have that." Sam chuckled, reclaiming her seat at the table and giving Spike's elbow a friendly nudge with her own. "Still, Giles, you compared me to Socrates, and I'm never gonna let you forget it."

Giles regarded his plate as Sam dug back into her food. There was hardly anything left of his dinner, just a few stray bits of stuffing, less than a mouthful of potato and a smudge of gravy. He sighed, picked up his plate and carried it into the kitchen.

"I suppose I'd best be off, then."

Spike smiled to himself a little. With the watcher gone, he would be on his own with Sam. His expression melted into a pensive frown as he thought back to the fond way Sam had squeezed his hand, the grin she had given him and the resultant warm fuzzies he had felt. What with the bloody Gem of Amara fiasco and the commando-lab following so close on the heels of everything that had happened with Dru, the last thing he wanted right now was to set himself up for _another_ disappointment. It was clear that he already felt something for Sam, and he didn't want to. He _didn't _want to have his heart broken again, not when it had barely begun to mend itself, and he didn't want to fall for a human, much less a Scooby. She had been friendly towards him, and even though part of him hoped that it meant something, that it was _real_, he knew that he was probably just seeing what he wanted to see. There was next to no chance that one of the goody-guys guys would want him. Sure, she had been curious and borderline flirtatious in the bathroom, but it was probably just the novelty of meeting someone she had heard so much about. That, or he was just a pet project; some injured stray she wanted to look after. Either way, he would have to be careful around her until he figured out what it was that she wanted from him. Still, he could probably have a bit of fun with her and not get too attached to the bird. Right?

The witch in question looked up from her plate and gave Spike a wry half smile. She winked, full of mischief, and mouthed _"While the cat's away.."_

"Yeah, luv?" He smiled back at her, curious about what kind of 'play' she might have in mind, but those pleasant thoughts vanished when he heard the oh-so-familiar sound of clanking chains.

Giles must have gotten them out of the bathroom, because now he had come out into the main room, toting the manacles and leg-irons. And he had retrieved the rope, too. Goody.

Sam seemed to have noticed Spike's sudden distraction, because she frowned, looking confused. "Spike?"

He nodded pointedly towards the heavily-laden watcher but didn't speak. He wasn't eager to be trussed up again, and he hoped that he didn't look half as wary as he felt. Showing weakness was the _last _thing he wanted to do.

"Really, Giles?" Sam stood up, hands on hips, gesturing to the collection of restraints with an incredulous look on her face.

Giles sighed. "Sam, I understand that you want to see the good in everyone, but Spike-"

She cut him off. "Why bother restraining him? He isn't going anywhere, and I thought you agreed to try this my way."

Giles glared at her, and his voice betrayed poorly-controlled annoyance. "This is my home, and since I will not be here to keep an eye on," his eyes flicked briefly to Spike, "on my _guest,_ I need some way to ensure that he stays put and doesn't do any harm."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Spike had to suppress a chuckle at that. He hadn't done any 'Harm' in quite some time. Not since the last time he'd been in bed with the vapid bint. He focused back on the present, where there was another bird, a bright, firey, and bloody fascinating one, who was arguing for him to be treated decently. Part of him still didn't trust her motives, and another part resented that she felt the need to defend him, because, lets face it, it was more than a _little _humiliating for the Big Bad to need that kind of help from some little chit, but mostly, he just wanted to see what she was going to do next.

The chit in question had taken a step towards Giles and was banging on. "Giles, we've talked about this. He came here on his own, and its not like he wants to leave. As long as he's here, he's got free cable, blood, and nobody trying to do experiments on him. Aside from the badgering, it's a pretty sweet setup. Why would he do anything to screw that up?" Giles looked about to say something, but she cut him off again. "I'll keep an eye on him for you. He steps a bitty toe out of line, I'll handle it." She smiled, glancing over at Spike as though she wanted to make sure that he didn't object to anything she had just said.

Again, he wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or pleased by her efforts, but either way, he didn't want to be chained or tied up again, so he gave her a bit of a smile. "You tell 'im, pet." If he had to be scrutinized by someone, he'd much rather it be her than dusty old Rupert.

Sam turned back to Giles again, bouncing impatiently on the balls of her feet. "Well?"

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed quietly. "Very well…" he looked up suddenly, glaring over at the table and using his upraised hand to point at the vampire who was picking at his stuffing. "But if he misbehaves, if he damages any of my books or artifacts… if he breaks _anything_, back he goes."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Like I'd _want_ to play with your bloody knick-knacks or read 'Bartholomew's Compendium of Demon Breeds' when the telly's right there."

Sam had to bite her lip to keep from grinning at Spike's cheeky reply, but she couldn't quite stifle a snort of laughter. Spike couldn't resist giving her a big wink, and he smiled to himself when she blushed slightly. Once she got herself under control again, she smiled up at the watcher. "You won't regret this. I promise."

"Yes, well," Giles reluctantly put away the ropes and chains, looking over at Spike again. "I certainly hope you're right about that."


	6. Alone At Last

Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

A/N: _Sorry for the lengthy delay between updates. Chapters six thru ten are dedicated to __**juggling**__, whose review inspired me to jump back into this story and hack away at it some more. RL has not been kind to me the past year or two, and I've been focusing on other creative projects, but I will try to update this story as often as I can. I've got an outline and about 40 chapters total planned out for season 4, plus at least 40 more for AU season 5. I've just gotta sit down and actually __**write**__ them. As always, everything I'm posting is un-beta'ed, so if there is a beta out there, I'd love to have your help!_

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><p><em>"We must accept or refuse one another as we are.<em>

_I could tame a hyena more easily than my friend._

_He is a material which no tool of mine will work."_

_~ Henry David Thoreau_

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><p>6 - Alone At Last<p>

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><p>It didn't take Giles very long to gather up the books he would need, and after several backward glances he finally headed out, once again admonishing Sam to 'be careful, for goodness sake!' before she closed the door behind him.<p>

She leaned back against the door and her eyes closed for a brief moment as she sighed, "I thought he'd never leave."

Spike quirked an eyebrow at that. "So, luv. This mean you're my babysitter?"

She gave him a smile as she pushed off of the door. "Nope. I figure you have enough sense to not tear the place apart." She came back towards the table, but instead of reclaiming her seat, she started clearing the dishes.

He watched her move around. Instead of walking the plates and such around into the kitchen, she was just putting everything on the breakfast bar and pushing it over towards the kitchen side. Whenever she pushed something across, she wound up leaning over the counter and bent almost double, which gave him a very nice view of her bum, and then she would straighten up and repeat the process.

_Well, this is as good a time as any to test the waters. Let's see how she reacts to the Big Bad…_

He stood, wincing when his leg protested, and stepped close to her shoulder, invading her personal space. He was close enough to grab hold of the belt of her robe and toy with it, but he didn't use it to tug her closer. "And… what will you do if I step out of line?" He made sure to keep his voice low and silken; part seductive purr, part threatening rumble.

Her breath caught and she paused before looking at him. "I…" she dropped his gaze and stopped to clear her throat, but managed a smile as she went on. "I didn't really have anything planned. You got any suggestions?"

He let the belt slip out of his hands and, chuckling, handed her his plate. "Not gonna give you any help there, pet. You want to scold me, I'm sure you'll come up with something."

Spike smiled to himself as he watched her. He had made her flustered, and aside from how satisfying that was, flustered looked charming on her. Her heartbeat had sped up a touch, and because she wasn't wearing any makeup, he could see that she was blushing ever so slightly. Of course, this also added a check mark to the 'not putting on an act' column. She was feisty and bright, but still very much a girl, and she didn't strike him as the Mata Hari type. The way she had handled Giles had been a bit manipulative, but her motives seemed pure and she hadn't actually lied at any point. Spike cocked his head slightly, deciding to let his guard down a little in light of all that. Not much, though. Just a little.

She put the last of the flatware on the counter and flashed him a mischievous smirk. "How about Holy Water in one of those toy squirt guns?"

He chuckled again, trailing behind as she moved into the kitchen. "Not a bad idea."

She started setting the dishes up to soak. "Well, at least Giles already put away most of the serving stuff." She glared at a bowl on the counter, "except for the Satanic jelly. Seriously, what happened there? This is not a normal consistency."

Spike leaned in the doorway, just watching her. His silence seemed to make her nervous, judging by the glances she threw him as she hunted for the lid to the cranberry sauce. She gave him another, longer look, and he could almost see her trying to think of not-trite conversation-starters.

"Why don't you heat yourself up some more blood? I'm sure you're still hungry."

_And there it is._

He nodded and stepped to the fridge, opting to leave the double entendre alone, although a few quips about how tasty she looked just then did flit across his mind. "Think I will." He scowled when he opened the door. The last pint bag was nearly empty. There was enough blood in it to fill a coffee mug and still have an ounce or two left over, but that was all. Unless Rupert was planning on doing an early morning run to the butchers, it looked like Spike wouldn't be getting breakfast the next day. His hand shook slightly when he grabbed the bag, and he stubbornly set his jaw. There was no way that he was gonna let the last of his foul, meager rations end up on the floor.

He must have been concentrating harder than he realized, because he blinked when a mug appeared by his elbow and looked over to find Sam smiling up at him. "Thanks, luv."

Sam gave him a friendly nudge when she handed the mug over. "No problem." She looked over his shoulder at the pint bag and frowned. "Is that the last of it?"

"Looks like." He made a disgusted noise, briefly wondering whether he should try to ration out the remaining blood so there would be some left for him the next morning. Hell, what had he been reduced to?

She shook her head, giving an annoyed sigh. "I'll call Willow's later, when they've had enough time to get back, and remind him to pick up some more."

He fixed her with an incredulous look. "And you think he'll listen?"

She shrugged one shoulder, twisting her mouth to one side in a humble half-smile. "To me? Yeah. Long as I don't push my luck too much, he pretty much gives me free reign. You think a gallon or two is enough to last you though tomorrow?"

He blinked at her, surprised again by her matter-of-fact attitude but more thrown by the unsolicited generous offer. "Yeah. That... that should do me fine."

Sam patted his arm. "Okay. I'll ask him for two, so he won't have to keep going back there every day. Also, I'm guessing that since you're injured…"

He nodded, finishing the thought. "Yeah, I'll prolly need more than usual. Ta, luv." She hadn't moved her hand from his arm, and her fingers were idly moving over his comparatively cooler skin. The contact made him smile, but he hoped that she wouldn't notice the slight muscle tremors which had started flitting up and down his arms. He was almost certain that Sam genuinely wanted to help him, but there was enough doubt in his mind that he wasn't sure about letting her know just how unsteady he actually felt.

She grinned. "Here to help." Her eyes suddenly darted down to his arm, where his traitorous muscles had just started doing the bloody cha-cha right under her hand. Her grin melted into a thoughtful frown and she fixed him with a stern look. "Something you want to tell me?"

He looked away from her and shifted uneasily, wincing when the action sent a painful twinge up his leg. "Bloody hell." Right, here he was, standing less than a foot away from a girl who was clearly no slouch in the brains department, trying to pretend that his arm wasn't shaking like he had bloody Parkinsons. Just who was he trying to kid?

"Luv, I…"

Spike met her eyes again, but no more words would come. He liked this girl and didn't want her to be cross with him for being less than honest, but this was pretty much uncharted territory for him. What the hell was he supposed to say now? What did people, _normal _people do in this situation? It wasn't as though he had a vast repertoire of cordial relations with human women to draw on for guidance.

This time, Sam didn't seem bothered by his silence. She still regarded him thoughtfully, but the stern expression softened into a smile and she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "It's okay. With all the crap you've been through lately, I don't expect you to be a hundred percent." He blinked at her as she went on. "How about I set the mug up while you get comfy on the couch or wherever, and I'll bring it out to you once it's nice and warm."

He shook his head, hardly believing what she was saying. This was just… new. Beyond uncharted territory, they weren't even on the same table, hell, in the same _room_, as any maps he was familiar with. "Sam, I…"

The grip on his arm tightened, and her other hand drifted over to take hold of the pint bag. "Please? Just let me help you."

So this was how it felt on the other side of the looking glass. He shook his head again, smiling wide in his surprise, and let her take the bag. "Not arguin', pet. Just havin' a bit of trouble adjusting to one of you lot being so damned considerate."

She flashed him a cocky grin as she filled the mug. "Well, get used to it, mister. As long as I'm here, there's gonna be at least one person who treats you decent."

He felt that warmth bloom in his chest again, that happiness, and gave her a nod. "Thanks, luv. It means a helluva lot." He started to limp out of the kitchen, hoping that she was too absorbed by the task she had set for herself to notice anything else. Letting her pour out was one thing. He appreciated it, actually. Not a big concession, and it didn't hurt his pride any, letting her do that, but if she saw how much trouble he was having just trying to bloody _walk, _well, he didn't know if the tattered shreds of his dignity could handle that. Fortunately, it seemed be working out the way he had hoped; Sam's full attention was on setting up the butcher's blood, or at least it was until he turned towards the hallway and most of his weight shifted to his injured leg. He winced and let out an involuntary hiss at the pain, then lost his balance and stumbled against the doorway. Stumbled _loudly,_ with a clearly audible 'thud'_._ Bloody brilliant.

"Spike! What happened? Are you okay?"

He heard Sam come over to him before he even had time to open his eyes. Her heart was beating too fast, and he could almost taste the adrenaline from her worry. He sagged slightly. There was no faking her reactions. She was genuinely worried about him. Genuinely _cared_. Her hand was on his arm again, this time closer to his shoulder, and he found its warm weight almost too comforting. This wasn't what he wanted! After everything, he just wanted somewhere private to lick his wounds. Not to fall for yet _another _bird. He wasn't ready to be crushed yet again.

"Spike?" Her voice was small, pitched a little higher than usual, and she had started to rub a small circle on his shoulder. It felt so nice, the way she touched him, but he knew that it didn't mean what he wanted it to.

"M' okay," he muttered unconvincingly, still grimacing as he pushed himself off of the door frame.

"Here, lemme help," Sam grabbed one of his arms and tugged it around her shoulders, obviously planning to help him walk the rest of the way.

Something snapped deep inside of him at the man-handling, and he snatched his arm back. "Gerroff of me!" he growled, instinctively going into gameface.

She gave him a push. Not nearly as hard as she could have, but more than enough to make him wobble and fall against the opposite wall. Sam glared down at him, one hand closed into a loose fist while the other gestured emphatically. "I'm just trying to help you, you stubborn jackass! Why won't you let me?"

He met her glare with one of his own as he tried to regain his feet by bracing himself against the wall. "Because I bloody hate this! I hate bein' so soddin weak, I hate bein' at the mercy of the Scoobies… and I don't want to like _you_!"

All traces of anger gone, she just blinked at him, clearly confused, and let out a breathy laugh. "Why don't you want to like me?"

His gameface receded and he let his head fall back against the wall, feeling less steady by the minute and fervently wishing that he could at least be sitting down for this. "Come on, the watcher wasn't keen about leavin' us alone, practically threatened to stake me for _lookin' _ at you when you came down in your bloody bathrobe. What d'you think he'd do if he saw us like this?"

She let out a sarcastic huff, almost sounding Buffy-esque. "You mean yelling at each other? I really don't think he'd care."

Spike gave her a look. "You know what I mean."

She sighed, "Yeah, I do." Sam shook her head and joined him in leaning against the wall. She turned to face him, and he was surprised by how sad she looked all of a sudden. "What makes you think I'd let him hurt you? Spike, you big dummy, haven't you been paying _any _attention tonight?" She bumped his shoulder with hers. "I like you, too."

He nodded heavily. "I know you do, luv." She liked him as a puppy-project-thing, a guy who who needed a friend. That was all. There was no romance on the cards here, with her. Unfortunately, his stupid undead heart didn't know the difference and it had already started composing dreadful poetry about her flashing eyes and bright auburn hair.

"Will you let me help you to the couch now, or d'you wanna stay here?" She nudged him again, smiling wickedly. "Of course, if you wanna crawl the rest of the way, that's an option, too."

He closed his eyes briefly, smiling despite himself when he looked over at her again. "The couch sounds lovely, pet."

"Okay, lets try for round two." She offered him a crooked smile and a hand up.

He accepted both with good grace, and this time, he let her support some of his weight as he limped toward the living room. He even smiled a little when her arm snaked around his back. Seemed like she wanted to make absolutely sure that he'd keep his balance. "Thanks." He leaned into her a little more, relaxing against her warmth.

"So, what happened to your leg?"

"Chumash arrow. Think part of the bloody thing's still in there."

She gave a sympathetic wince. "Owch." Her arm tightened slightly around his middle, just enough that the action was probably involuntary. "I'm sorry. It must hurt like hell."

He swallowed, surprised and touched by just how gentle she was with him. She didn't handle him with kid gloves, so it wasn't as though he felt molly-coddled, she was just… kind. Stubborn and bloody brilliant and kind. How was he supposed to _not_ fall for her? He pushed those thoughts aside and forced a chuckle. "I've had worse, luv. Buffy dropped a bloody church organ on me once."

She nodded, reaching up to pat the hand he had wrapped around her shoulder. "Yeah, I know, but that doesn't make this any more fun for you." They reached the couch while she was speaking, and she helped him get settled. "I'll set the mug up while you get comfy out here."

He propped his foot up on the coffee table and absently rubbed at his leg, nodding. "Thanks, luv."

She gave him a cheeky smile and jerked her head at the tv. "Think you can find something worth watching?"

He grinned, hunting around for the remote. "Sure thing."

TBC


	7. Couch Time

Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

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><p><em>"In my experience, there are two kinds of monsters.<em>

_The first type can be redeemed, or more importantly,_

_Wants to be redeemed… The second is void of humanity._

_It cannot respond to reason. Or love."_

~ Rupert Giles, '_Beauty and the Beasts'_

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><p>7 - Couch Time<p>

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><p>Spike's stomach growled as Sam moved back towards the kitchen. The last time he'd eaten someone was that blond bird in LA when he was waiting for Angel to track him down, and he hadn't finished her off, maybe getting three pints from her before Peaches showed up. He'd headed back to Sunnyhell soon after Marcus buggered off with the Gem of Amarra, and after a short visit with Joyce for some cocoa and a sympathetic ear, he tracked Buffy down. He found her on campus fighting some dime-a-dozen fledge and making bad puns. He had been tempted to join in, maybe take advantage of the scrap and use Buffy's focus on dusting the fledge as an opportunity to get the drop on her, but he decided to hold back, watching her, and he was in mid-plan when the night exploded in blue electricity and the commando wankers grabbed him.<p>

He didn't know how long he'd been in the lab before managing to escape. There were no clocks visible from his cell and no windows, so he didn't have any references for the passage of time except his own hunger. When he broke out he was hungrier than he should have been from just one week without feeding, and he didn't know for sure how long the commandos had in in their lab, but he did have the beginnings of a timeline based on, of all things, Willow and Oz's break-up. Since the werewolf had acted as cavalry for Angel and co, Oz was part of the reason he'd come back from L.A. without the gem. When he was ambushed and captured, it was three nights before the full moon and, from what he'd heard, Oz didn't leave Willow until two days after the full moon. That meant he'd been captive for at least six days. Being on the run and unable to feed for over a week had left him unsteady, to say the least, and jumping out of a second floor window to get away from those soldiers in the Stevenson dorm hadn't helped any. Finding out how much time had passed between Oz's departure and his attack on Willow would tell him exactly how long he'd been in the lab.

"Spike? What'cha doin'?"

He turned around in his seat to find that Sam was looking at him quizzically from behind the breakfast bar. She pointed vaguely in front of him, "Your hands…"

He looked where she was pointing and shook his head, letting out an unneeded breath. Without realizing what he was doing, he had started ticking off the days which he _could _account for on his hand. He gave a nonchalant shrug. "Just tryin' to figure how long those wankers had me."

She nodded her understanding, then frowned down at something in her hands. "Okay. How long should I zap the blood for?"

"'Bout a minute fifty should do it."

She nodded again and set the timer. "What does the time-frame look like, for when they grabbed you?"

He let his head fall back against the cushions. "Three nights 'fore the full moon." Sitting was definitely better than standing, but he was still so bloody tired. The couch being so damned comfy didn't help matters. Now that he felt relatively safe, all he wanted to do was let his eyes close and grab some kip, but first he had to eat. Of course, he reasoned that there was nothing stopping him from resting his eyes until Sam brought the blood over, so he let his heavy lids fall shut.

The microwave whirred for a few seconds before she replied. "Well, the last full moon was on November eighth, and you were captured three days before that…"

He finished the thought, frowning slightly with his eyes still closed. "So, the fifth."

There was the sound of thick paper moving, which he assumed was a wall calendar or something similar. "Right, and you didn't have any blood till you got here, and Turkey Day this year was on the twenty fifth, so… almost three weeks with no food? Holy shit, Spike. How are you still functioning?"

He smirked but didn't bother to open his eyes or turn around. He didn't need to see her face to gauge her reaction. Sam's worry and surprise were clear enough in her voice. "Vamp constitution, luv. We can go a long time without feeding, but it isn't pretty."

She snorted, and he found the indelicate sound oddly endearing. "Really? I had my money on sheer stubbornness." The microwave beeped, he heard her remove the mug and tried to talk himself into opening his eyes again as her footsteps got closer. She sat down next to him and rested a hand on his arm. "C'mon, Spike. Dinner time." When she spoke, her voice was light and almost cajoling. "There's plenty of time to sleep later."

Spike muttered sullenly, "'M not asleep." He reluctantly tugged his eyes open and was greeted by the sight of a gently smiling witch holding out a steaming over-sized mug of blood.

"Drink up."

He nodded and reached out for the mug, but his hand shook badly and he let out a frustrated breath. "Bloody rot…"

Sam frowned, lowering the mug slightly, and reached into the pocket of her robe with her free hand. "Well, good thing I brought this." She held out a bendy straw for him to see, then unwrapped it with her free hand and her teeth before carefully setting it down in the mug.

Spike was grateful for the thoughtfulness of the gesture, but come on, being fed from a bendy straw? That bit was over and done with when he was freed from the tub… or at least, that's what he had thought. He glared at her. "You can't be serious. I'm not drinkin' from _that_."

She lowered the mug and her smile faded, but she didn't falter or look away from his eyes. "Would you rather eat your dinner or wear it? Your call." There was that no-nonsense tone again. It almost made him feel like a damned schoolboy.

An unbidden memory flashed across his mind. Stuck in that damned wheelchair, Dru walking towards him holding a terrified, whimpering puppy in her arms.

"_Come on, love. You have to eat something to keep your strength up. Now, grrrr, open up for Mummy…"_

His own petulant roar echoed in his memory: _"I won't have you feeding me like a child, Dru!"_

And then Angelus, the giant sod, bloody chiming in: _"Why not? She already bathes you, carries you around and changes you like a child."_

"Spike?"

Sam had rested her hand on his arm again while he was lost in thought, and a gentle squeeze from her brought him back to the present. His focus snapped to her, guardedly wondering how she would handle this situation. How she would handle _him_. Would she threaten? Wheedle? Mock? He glared at her challengingly, mentally squaring his shoulders for whatever she had in store.

She stubbornly held his gaze, her face betraying some frustration, but she didn't say anything else, and instead just waited him out. It didn't take long before his glare dissolved completely. He'd never been long on patience, anyway. He muttered, "this is bleedin' humiliating," and leaned forward enough to take the end of the straw between his lips.

"It doesn't have to be." Her smile came back and she used her free hand to give his knee a reassuring pat while he drank. "I won't tell a soul. Or any entities without souls. I promise."

He smirked at the quip and dipped his head slightly to thank her for the promise. While he drank, he assessed her. She was kindhearted, that much was clear from the way she treated him, but she obviously wasn't a doormat type. She was pretty damn bossy, actually. The fact that she had good instincts and a sharp mind almost made the bossy-ness more annoying, since it meant that she was most likely right more often than not, which inevitably meant that whoever was arguing with her would probably find themselves having to admit defeat at some point. He smiled to himself between mouthfuls. He'd have to remember to avoid getting in any more tiffs with this one.

The straw made a series of sputtering noises and she sat up slightly so she could peer into the mug. "All set?"

He sat back and nodded. "Yeah. Was that the last of it?" The mug had taken most of the edge off of his hunger, but he'd need to have more blood in the morning.

"It was, but I'm about to call the delivery guy." She gave the cup a delicate sniff and turned slightly green. "Right after I clean out this little devil." She got up and headed towards the kitchen.

"Luv?"

She paused mid-step, turning to face him again, and he tried not to let the fact that she was answering the endearment get his hopes up. "Yeah?"

He swallowed heavily before nodding to the mug in her hand. He was glad for the blood, of course, but he was even more thankful for how patient and understanding she was with him. Not to mention how nice it was that someone was looking after him, for a change. He didn't know how to say that, not without sounding like a giant ponce, and there was still a tiny, niggling doubt in the back of his mind that despite all the evidence to the contrary, she might not genuinely care about him, so he didn't try to clarify the reason for his gratitude. "Thanks."

She smiled. Beamed, really, and fiddled with the straw. "Lets hope you won't need the straw again." The happy expression faded and she shook her head. "I just wish you didn't make it so hard for me to help you."

He looked away, pretending to resume his search for something worthwhile on telly, and didn't reply. He heard the sink come on, and knew that she was washing out the mug so he wouldn't need to bother with it, and no doubt so the watcher wouldn't make a fuss when he got home. Spike grit his teeth. It was getting harder by the minute for him to not like her.

Sam gave a frustrated breath. "Is that what you're doing? Making it hard on purpose to see if I'll still try?"

His shoulders tensed and he sighed, not turning to face her. Why did she have to be so bloody clever? "Maybe. What if I am?"

She laughed, actually _laughed_ at that.

Spike bristled, hurt and surprised, but before he could come up with an appropriately biting reply, she went on.

"Okay, so you're six times my age and _I'm _being the mature one." She grinned, shaking her head as the chuckles died away. "That's just fucked up."

By the time he had turned around to glare at her, it was clear that she wasn't really laughing at him. His scowl melted away and he had to chuckle. The girl had a point. "A bit, yeah."

"I'll play along, but only for a while, 'kay? It's not like you're the only one around here who's got issues."

Another image, this time of Sam freaking out at the dinner table, flashed before his mind's eye, and he nodded. "Fair enough."

She finished rinsing the mug and wiped it down before setting it in the drying rack. "Find anything good yet?"

Spike blinked, uncomprehending for a few seconds before the light bulb clicked on. "Right. Telly. Not yet." He turned back towards the living room and started scanning the channels in earnest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam pick the phone up from its cradle and dial what he assumed must be Willow's phone number.

During a short conversation between between Sam and Willow, the elder witch convinced the younger one to stop off at the butcher's after going to the Magic Box for supplies. Oddly enough, Willow didn't seem resistant to the idea of buying extra blood, and she even promised that she would convince Giles to go along with the plan if he seemed reluctant. Sam ended the call and hung up.

"All set. That was easier than I thought it would be."

He watched as she headed back over to the couch. "Red's gonna help?"

She nodded, a vaguely puzzled look on her face. "Yeah. Thought I'd have to make more of a case, but she just agreed."

Spike kept flipping channels, doing his best to keep his eyes straight ahead. "Maybe she just said it so you'd leave her be, an' she doesn't really mean to convince Rupes."

She sat down next to him, shaking her head. "Willow hates lying. Plus, I think she gets what I'm trying to do."

He tried to ignore the fact that Sam's hip was resting against his leg. "Oh, an' what's that?"

In defiance of his silent pleas, Sam leaned against his side and hooked her arm through his. "I happen to believe that helping you and the Scoobies aren't mutually exclusive goals. I want to help you for the sake of helping you, but also because I know it's the best way to find out what you know about the commando guys, and I think that talking about what happened with someone who actually cares might do you some good."

Spike cocked an eyebrow at her. "Is that right?"

"Mm-hmm." Her answer was accompanied by a nod and a soft smile. "And, something else you should know."

"Really, wha-"

She leaned in and kissed his cheek before he could finish the question. His brain put up an 'out to lunch' sign and his voice just plain disappeared.

She sat back and smiled up at him, still touching his knee. "I don't like ambiguity, but I _do _like you."

All he could do was sit there, blinking and trying to understand what... what the hell… had he misread the situation so badly? Here was a bloody good catch who, as it turned out, wanted him. Actually _wanted him_ the way he wanted her. His eyes narrowed in suspicious disbelief. Was this really happening?

"Spike?" Sam gave a worried frown when he didn't respond. She reached up a hand and gently, ever so gently, tapped her knuckles against the side of his head. "Spike? You still in there?"

His voice came back from its vacation sounding strange and crackly. "I… I thought that… you were just bein' nice…" God, that sounded stupid. It was the truth, though. He _had _thought that her kindness was, at best, nothing more than friendliness; and at worst, charity or some form of manipulation. Did that mean he was overly suspicious or just thick?

Sam grinned impishly, cupped his cheek in her hand and kissed him again; a quick, chaste pressing of her lips to his before she pulled away. She sat back slightly, stroking his cheek with her thumb and licking her lips before giving a faux-sage nod.

"Well, Spike… you thought wrong." Her voice was matter-of-fact but still managed to be warm somehow. "Now, I'm really tired, so I'm gonna get comfy." Her hand dropped away and she shifted slightly next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder and then looking up at him again. "You okay with this?"

He nodded dumbly, realizing that at some point his arm had wrapped around her shoulders again. He used the limb to draw her a little closer. The gesture was clearly possessive, but if Sam noticed, she didn't seem to mind. "Yeah, luv. 'M better 'n okay." A tentative smile started to tug at his lips as he settled in, allowing himself to relax against her as he nuzzled at her ear. "I'm bloody fantastic."

She shifted enough to meet his eyes and frowned slightly, resting a gentle hand against his chest and fixing him with a worried look. "And I'm not leaning on anywhere you were shot?"

His mouth almost fell open at the genuine concern on her face. The last time that someone he respected had cared so much about making sure that he was comfortable with a situation had been… well, before he was turned, actually. The times when Dru had remembered to look after him when he had been in the wheelchair barely counted, since they usually happened not too long after she and Angelus had been shagging, and Spike could still smell the other male's scent all over his dark goddess. Harmony's clumsy efforts all more or less fell into the 'attention-seeking' category, so they hardly counted, and the various minions he'd put up with over the decades only cared about keeping him happy since it would prolong their own usefulness to the Boss. He gave his head a little shake, more to clear it than in answer to her query.

"I… no, pet. You're fine right there."

She nodded against him. "Glad to hear it. So, ambiguity kaput?"

Spike swallowed, staring blankly at the tv as he tried to make sense of what had just happened between them. He pinched the inside of his wrist. Hard. Yep, not dreaming. Again, this was uncharted territory. Of all the women he had ever cared for or been involved with, each had always been conspicuously lacking in some way. Cecily had been beautiful and intelligent, but cruel. Drusilla was exciting but mercurial and paid more mind to her pixies or, worse yet, to her sodding 'daddy' than to anything else. As for Harmony… well, 'cheap' 'stupid' and 'shallow' were the most charitable words he could come up with for her. But Sam…

This girl, this sane, beautiful, clever, kind girl wanted him. He didn't know how, he didn't know why, and he suddenly realized that he really didn't give a fuck about either. "I think we're both pretty clear, pet." He kissed her hair, needing to let her know how happy she had just made him. "You want me, and I want you."

She smiled into his chest. "Yup, that was my math." A few moments later, she lifted up slightly and tried to twist around.

He watched her curiously, trying not to let his voice show the sudden hurt he had felt when she seemed to be pulling away. "What are you doin', pet?"

Sam gestured at the back of the couch by way of explanation. "Blanket."

He smiled, seeing how the grey and white tartan was pinned to the cushions by their shared weight. "Right. I'll get it for you." He managed to ease the blanket free without dislodging Sam, although he did have to unwind his arm from around her in the process. He shook the wool blanket out and laid it over her, making sure she was covered from chin to toes. "How's that?"

She tugged at the edge of the blanket, flashing a grateful look at him. "Much better. Thanks." A wide expanse of the blanket had settled on the empty area of cushions beside her, and she started pulling on it, gathering the cloth towards herself.

He watched her efforts with a bemused smile and shook his head, mildly curious. "Just what are you trying to do?"

She looked up at him, smiled, and raised her arm up enough to hold out the edge of the blanket, creating an inviting tent of cloth hovering over his torso. "There's room in here for you too. Join me?"

He smiled softly at her earnest offer, slipping his arm back around her as they both settled in. "Whatever you want, pet."

She chuckled into his shirt, draping one arm over his belly while the other found its way between his lower back and the couch cushions. "I'll hold you to that, mister." She hugged him tight for a moment before letting her arms relax into a more casual embrace, her hands clasped loosely together and resting on his far hip.

Before too long, Spike was nearly dosing. The confluence of telly, blood, a comfy couch and his girl, yeah _his girl _cuddled up next to him under the watcher's blanket had all conspired to lull him into a deep state of relaxation, and he wasn't fighting it. Why should he? He was bloody content. As far as he could tell, there was only one spanner in the works, and he was about to set that right. He just hoped that Sam was still awake so he could sort it. "Pet?"

"Hmm?"

She rubbed her forehead against his chest, catlike, and he closed his eyes, drinking her in as he murmured to her hair. "Sorry I yelled at you, before… when we were by the kitchen. Didn't mean to lose my temper like that. I know you were just tryin' to help me."

She patted his leg sleepily, her words slurring together enough to betray how tired she actually was. "I get it. You were upset. I _really _don' like bein' yelled at, tho, so try not to do that 'gain, 'kay?"

His throat clenched. Damn, there was his bloody temper, cocking things up again. "I'll try, luv. Last thing I want to do is upset you."

"Thanks. Never had a glare-off with a vamp in gameface before, so that was new." She yawned into his shirt and then nodded against him. "I'll try not to upset you, either. The yellow eyes are okay, but I like you better with blue eyes."

Oh. Huh. In all the fuss, he'd forgotten that he'd been in gameface while they were shouting and staring daggers at each other. And even confronted with demonic ridges, fangs, growling and yellow eyes, she hadn't backed down. Hell, she hadn't even lost steam. She kept trying to help him until he gave in and let her. That, more than anything else, convinced him just how _much _she really cared about him. He smiled. She was bloody stubborn, and she wanted him. Well, best to let the lady have her way, innit?

She cuddled closer to him, clumsily hitching the blanket up over her shoulder before continuing with her sleepy drawl. "So… now we're on the same page, does it mean you're done bein' so prickly?"

He tugged the blanket up to cover her better and ran his fingers through her messy curls. "Yeah. Round you, at least. No more yellin' or bein' prickly."

"Kay." She smiled against his chest and gave a happy sigh. "G'nite, Big Bad."

For some reason, the way she said it, with more genuine fondness than due deference made him grin like a loon. He pressed a kiss to her hair and held her close. "Night, Sam."

A while later, the end credits were rolling on a movie which Spike had paid almost no attention to. He'd been doing something far more important: he was memorizing. Memorizing the way light from the kitchen played over Sam's hair, the delicate curves of her face, how she smelled of cinnamon, herbs and soap. He took a moment to turn off the telly, and then resumed studying the slumbering girl who had nestled into his side, her head pillowed just below his shoulder. He watched the steady rise and fall of her chest with each breath, listened to the steady lump-thump-lump-thump of her heartbeat, and he gave a completely unnecessary sigh as he closed his eyes and let his head tilt to rest against hers.

No point in fighting it.

He was done for, and he really didn't mind.


	8. The Smart Thing

Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

_A/N: I'm trying something out. I've come across some interesting quotes recently (been on a Criminal Minds bender), and l've added them at the beginning of chapters if I feel that the quotes fit well with a theme of the chapter. Please let me know if you feel that this is adding anything to the story, or if its just cheesy. Thanks for all your great feedback so far! It means a lot and encourages me to keep plugging away at this monster. Please read and review!_

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><p>"<em>No man deserves to be praised for his goodness, who has it not in his power to be wicked.<em>

_Goodness without that power is generally nothing more than sloth, or an impotence of will_."

~ _François, Duc De La Rochefoucauld_

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><p>8 – The Smart Thing<p>

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><p>Giles walked towards his apartment, glancing down at his wristwatch along the way. He shook his head. Nearly eleven o'clock. It had been a longer evening at the dorms than he would have liked. Willow's spell hadn't yielded a clear location for the errant werewolf, but it also hadn't gone awry, which was a great relief. Despite his initial annoyance with Sam for thrusting him into the role of babysitter for a lovesick adolescent witch, it <em>had <em>felt good to be needed again. Being able to help Willow with researching spells had reminded him of a time when he wasn't unemployed and at loose ends in terms of what to do with himself. Lately, it seemed as though he had nothing but free time and very little to occupy himself with.

He unlocked the door and shook his head slightly. Inside his home there was an infamous vampire who had turned himself in to the Slayer's custody and offered himself as an informant. An informant who, so far, had not given them any useful information. He adjusted the plastic bag in his hand. It contained two gallons of waste blood from the butcher. While he was looking for the correct herbs at the Magic Box, Willow had ducked out and bought the butcher's blood for him to take home. That made two witches who were oddly concerned for the well-being of his vampire house guest. He only hoped that Sam's apparent fondness for Spike wouldn't put her in any danger.

The front door opened with a slight creak, and he stepped inside. The place looked much as it had when he left it, except that the table had been cleared and dinner dishes were piled in the kitchen sink. Giles didn't hear anything odd as he hung up his coat and headed towards the kitchen. In fact, he didn't hear anything at all. There were no sounds from either of his house guests; no voices, television or music. He could almost believe that he was alone in his home. It was still fairly early, at least by Scooby standards, so he had expected that Sam would still be awake. Of course, after a long day of traipsing through airports and flying halfway around the world, he wouldn't be surprised if she had decided to turn in early.

A flash of movement by the couch caught his eye. When he stepped closer, he saw the back of Spike's head resting against and partially obscured by the cushioned backrest. The vampire didn't speak or otherwise acknowledge his presence, so Giles guessed that William the Bloody Pain-In-The-Arse must be asleep, too. Just as well. The former Watcher wasn't in the mood to deal with any more puerile nonsense. He simply wanted to put his 'groceries' away and quietly retire upstairs. He would have preferred to have Spike chained up in his study during the night, but Giles didn't relish the thought of waking the vampire up just to restrain him. The odds of that going over well were almost non-existent, especially without Sam to act as a buffer, so he decided to let sleeping vampires lie.

Giles skirted the living room area on his way to the fridge, not paying much mind to anything other than putting the blood away, but on his way back he noticed a pair of feet propped up on the arm of his couch. The feet were much too small to belong to a man, so he stepped closer to get a better look.

The feet belonged to Sam. She was sprawled on the couch, unmoving, her head turned slightly to her left and resting in Spike's lap. Her right arm was hidden by her torso, the upper part of her left arm rested by her side and her forearm dangled off the seat of the couch. Her torso lay flat, but her hips were turned sideways so that her legs lay one on top of the other. The tableau was eerily similar to how Jenny Calendar had looked the one and only time she had been in his bed, and suddenly, Giles found himself incapable of rational thought.

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><p>Spike was dragged back to consciousness by a pair of hands hauling him upright and an irate voice shouting at him. He couldn't tell what his assailant was saying, just that whoever it was sounded royally brassed off. His eyes popped open as he came fully awake to find that Giles had him by the shirt and was shaking him. <em>Hard<em>.

"Bloody hell, Watcher! What're you playin' at?"

Giles pulled him closer, radiating anger, and gave voice to something which resembled a growl. "What did you do to her? What did you do!?"

Spike stared at him incredulously. "'Do'? I didn't _do _ anythin', mate." Spike looked over to Sam, and saw that she was blinking awake. Commotion probably woke her up. He sighed, putting it all together. The man must've seen them on the couch with her sprawled out all awkward-like and thought he'd hurt her or summat. No wonder watcher-boy was blinkered. Spike put his hands up in the universal gesture for 'surrender'. Best to explain things, quick, if he wanted to keep all his bits attached. No reason to mention the kissing, though, since he didn't have a dust-wish. He spoke slowly and clearly and tried to sound calm despite the stake which had suddenly found its way into Giles' upraised hand.

"We watched telly an' fell asleep, Rupert. That's all. No need for the pointy stick." He might be able to dodge away safely if Giles tried to dust him, but with the cramped space and his leg the way it was, Spike didn't like his chances.

A sleepy, puzzled female voice joined the conversation. "What's goin' on?"

As soon as Giles heard her, he released his grip on Spike's shirt and turned to look at her. "Sam." Giles sighed in relief, briefly closing his eyes and giving a faint smile as he let his head fall forward. "You're alright."

Spike took the opportunity to shift his weight off of his hurt leg. It wasn't actually bothering him yet, just a dull ache which he could easily ignore, but he wanted to make sure the lack-of-pain lasted as long as possible.

Meanwhile, Sam had stood up, stretching her arms above her head until her shoulders popped slightly. "Yeah, I'm okay." Sam looked curiously from Giles to Spike, her eyes traveling back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. "Course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?" Her eyes suddenly narrowed as she caught sight of the stake in Giles' hand and she grabbed it from him, glaring and waving the deadly bit of wood under the Watcher's nose. "What the hell are you doing with this? Huh? That's no way to wake someone!"

Giles gestured helplessly at the couch, obviously flustered and trying to justify his actions. "I-I saw you lying there and I thought Spike had… well, that he must have…"

Sam stared daggers at her host, her chin jutting out obstinately as she tilted her head back to glare at the tall Englishman. "No, Giles, you _didn't _ think. That's the problem." She faced Spike and her expression instantly softened, her worried eyes quickly traveling over him as she laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

He nodded and gave a fond smile, warmed by her concern. "Yeah, pet. No harm done."

She glanced sideways at Giles, her eyes turning steely again when she saw that the man had started moving towards his nearest weapons chest. "Lets try to keep it that way."

Giles nodded, reaching the chest and opening it. "Precisely my goal." However, he seemed to have misunderstood her meaning. Spike was almost certain that Sam had meant 'avoid harm done _to_ Spike', but if the reappearance of the leg irons was anything to go by, Giles had thought she meant 'avoid harm done _by _Spike.'

"Sam, when I came in, I initially assumed that you were asleep upstairs, and that being the case I did not want to disturb you-"

She rolled her eyes, muttering, "With the wake-up you just gave us, the 'not disturbing me' ship has pretty much sailed."

Spike let out a breathy chuckle at that.

Giles continued undaunted. "However, since you _are _awake now, I would greatly appreciate your assistance in… _securing _Spike for the night." The man retrieved the crossbow which he had menaced Spike with earlier that day.

Sam crossed her arms, entirely out of patience. "Drop the euphemisms, Giles." She yawned behind her hand, blinking afterward and shaking her head slightly. "I'm waaay too tired for pretense."

The former Watcher loaded a bolt into the crossbow, making a slight cluck-cluck noise back in his throat as he did so, and once the bolt was in place he rose to his full height. "Very well. Until we have ascertained whether or not Spike is actually capable of inflicting harm, I will not have him roaming loose unsupervised in my home." He fixed Sam with a stern, Watcher-ly glare for emphasis. "Especially while we sleep."

She sighed, rubbing the heel of one hand against her forehead. "I think you're wrong, but it's your house and, yeah, you have the right to feel safe here."

Spike watched the exchange closely but didn't speak, wary of doing anything which might incur Giles' wrath. He almost felt frozen in time, wondering what would happen next and fervently hoping that whatever happened wouldn't involve any pain, physical or otherwise.

Giles nodded at Sam and gave her a tight smile. "Glad we can agree. Now, if you would be so kind as to discourage our guest from trying anything foolish while I fasten his restraints…" He handed Sam the crossbow.

Spike tensed, and a cold, sinking feeling of betrayal settled in the pit of his stomach as Sam took hold of the weapon. She raised her eyes from the weapon and turned to face him, looking as though she had just bit into a rotten lemon. Her hands fidgeted on the crossbow stalk and she swallowed, looking pale and suddenly very fragile.

Was she afraid of him? Was that what he was seeing on her face? She hadn't seemed the least bit frightened of him since they had met, even though that had only been a few hours earlier. He'd hardly been at his best the whole time, but she hadn't seemed phased by anything that had happened so far. He'd vamped out and yelled at her, and not too long afterwards they had fallen asleep cuddling, for Christ sake! Surely that had to mean something. Had the fondness truly only been one-sided, or was she having second thoughts courtesy of Giles? That didn't seem likely either. The affection he had felt from her had been real, he was sure of it, and, stubborn as she was, it would take much more than Watcher-boy's hyper-vigilance to change how she felt about him. So why was she still holding a weapon?

If she was afraid of him, or even if she was starting to have doubts, he'd understand. She was a white-hat, through and through, and he'd been stupid to think that a few hours of good behavior would be enough to make her overlook all that he'd done during the past hundred-plus years. He hadn't even considered all the flak she was likely to get from the Scoobies for even caring about him, and as much as the notion of them braving the storm of disapproval appealed to the romantic in him, he knew that she probably wouldn't take a gamble like that on someone she had just met. Hell, she hadn't even committed to him beyond two kisses, a cuddle and saying that she wanted him. They were barely lovers, just starting out, really, and he couldn't be sure what she would do once the chips were down.

Spike squared his shoulders. Well, he'd just have to prove Watcher-boy wrong, and trust that Sam would do right by him. After all, she hadn't let him down yet.

Sam looked from Spike to the crossbow several times, threw a glance over to Giles, and then gave her head a determined shake as she shifted her focus back to the vamp. "I'm sorry."

Spike nodded tightly, disappointed but not surprised that she had sided with the watcher. He hunched his shoulders slightly and kept his tone nonchalant, hoping that he didn't let on how hurt he was. "'S alright, pet. Can't say I'm thrilled, but-"

She shook her head again, a confused expression briefly passing over her face. "No, I was talking to Giles." She smiled at Spike and put the weapon down on top of one of the low bookshelves. He blinked for a few moments in stunned surprise, just watching her hands withdraw as she left the weapon to sit harmlessly atop the books, and he felt a relieved and grateful smile split his face as his eyes trailed up to meet hers.

Giles narrowed his eyes at her, coming forward and stopping slightly closer to the young woman than an English gentleman strictly should. "Sam, what are you-"

She cut him off. "Giles, if you want to chain Spike up, fine, it's your house, but you'll do it without my help." She interrupted herself with a yawn, but held a hovering hand over Giles' mouth to keep him quiet until she could resume talking. Spike grinned at that but didn't let out a peep. "We've been over this. The only way you're gonna get any info outta Spike is if you stop treating him like crap, so I won't help you lock him up since it's A) wrong and B) counter-productive."

Another yawn interrupted her, and she blinked copiously afterwards. This time, Giles took advantage of the moment to speak. "You wont help? Despite the danger he poses?"

She rolled her eyes, "I won't help you figuratively shoot yourself in the foot. And if he was as dangerous as you think, don'tcha think he would've snacked on me while you were out?" She shivered slightly and yawned yet again, struggling to not lose her balance as the tired breath shook her. She crossed her arms, running her hands over her sleeves as thought she was trying to warm herself up. "Look, I'm too tired to keep going 'round in circles about this. Either you'll see that I'm right or you won't, but either way I have to go fall down."

Spike gave her a tender smile, but since the crossbow was within an arm's length of Giles, he refrained from reaching out to touch her. "Go on and rest, luv. Rupes an I will be fine."

She smiled back at him on her way to the staircase, then shot Giles a quick glare. "I hope you're right about that."

Giles nodded. "Sleep well, Sam. I'm sure we'll continue this… discussion in the morning."

Sam paused on the stairs with another eye-roll and gritted out, "No. More. Euphemisms. You're maxing out my bullshit tolerance."

Giles waited until Sam's footsteps reached the upstairs hallway, and then he reclaimed the abandoned crossbow, aiming it at Spike's chest. "Walk past the kitchen and down the hall."

Spike tensed his jaw. He couldn't even bring himself to be surprised, really, and since he didn't want to add another injury to his collection or kick up a fuss which might postpone Sam's much-needed sleep, he started towards the hallway. He hadn't been on his feet long, and he'd managed to keep most of his weight off of his bad leg, but after just a few steps he found himself limping slightly.

Giles kept the crossbow trained on Spike as he escorted him into the study. Spike stopped just in front of the radiator. "So that's the grand plan, Rupes? Truss me up in here, outta sight, outta mind?"

"Only when you are on your own. On a related topic, I'm hardly pleased by how… attached Sam clearly is to you, but if she can ensure your good behavior, I suppose it isn't such a terrible state of affairs. As long as it doesn't go any farther than it already has, I won't be forced to intervene."

Spike shook his head at the man's overabundance of caution. Wasn't it bloody clear that he couldn't hurt any of them? Sure, on paper it helped his tattered Big Bad persona to be treated as a potential threat, but being chained to a soddin' radiator was hardly his idea of a good – let alone comfortable – way to spend the night. Not to mention how much it rankled that Rupes had somehow managed to both dismiss Sam's feelings for him as merely a useful tool to 'ensure good behavior' _and _ threaten to quash their budding romance in the same breath. Cripes. God forbid anyone ever have a good tumble in Giles' flat. He turned to face Giles, a quip about celibacy loving company ready on his tongue, when his leg buckled – again – and everything went dark.

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><p>Giles frowned. He wasn't entirely certain what had just happened. One moment, Spike was upright, and then he seemed to have lost his balance somehow. As he fell, Spike's head had connected with part of the radiator, and now the unconscious vampire lay in a crumpled heap at Giles' feet. There was an ugly gash on Spike's temple which Giles could clearly see without needing to get any closer, and a mess of blood was sluggishly oozing out of the wound. The impact had made a sickening sound not unlike a cut of meat landing on a tile floor. As awful as the sound had been, Giles knew from past experience that vampires could easily sustain much more grievous blows to the head without losing consciousness. His frown deepened. Perhaps Spike had not been exaggerating how weakened he was when he first arrived.<p>

There was no way to be sure whether Spike would wake up again before the morning, and although he was clearly no threat to anyone at the moment, being injured hardly decreased the danger he might pose upon waking. On the contrary, having been injured might very well give him cause – legitimate cause, even – to either leave the premises, taking his knowledge of the commandos with him, or increase his hostility towards his captors, and that made him more dangerous.

Giles set aside his crossbow and ran the manacle chain around a thick pipe which attached the radiator to the wall, glancing at Spike's inert form every so often. He told himself that chaining Spike up really was a two-person job, so it was just as well that the vampire was out cold while he got the restraints in order, but part of him felt that shackling Spike in his current state was wrong, somehow. Giles had to push and tug the unconscious vampire closer to the radiator pipe before he could get the manacles on. Until they were absolutely certain that Spike was harmless, Spike had to be either supervised or restrained at all times. That was the best, and the safest course of action, not only for Giles himself, but for the young people who were unofficially in his charge. He shook his head, setting aside his doubts, and quickly locked the manacles around Spike's wrists. This was what needed to be done.

He shook the chains slightly, making sure they were fastened well, and stood up. The window in his study faced east, and it was directly across from the radiator. Giles stepped across the room and arranged the curtains so that they would block any stray beams from entering the room come sunrise. A dusted hostage was of no use to anyone.

Giles headed for the hallway, grabbing his crossbow en route, and briefly paused in the doorway to glance at his study's sole occupant. Spike's head was lolled onto his shoulder in what couldn't possibly be a comfortable position, and he was awkwardly slumped against the wall. Spike didn't stir or make a sound, and again Giles felt that just leaving his prisoner chained and bloodied on the floor went against some code of ethics, but he had committed to this course of action, and he would see it through.

Without another look back, the ex-Watcher headed off to bed.

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><p><em>AN: A cookie for anyone who remembers what Giles' 'cluck-cluck' noise means. Think back to season 3. It was something Willow said. _


	9. I Love A Mystery

Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

_A/N: This update is short for a reason. It started out as the opening section of a longer chapter, but I felt that this puppy came to a nice cliff-hangy ending, and this way all you lovely people won't have to wait quite as long between updates. Hope you enjoy it, and please read and review!_

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><p>"<em>The true rule, in determining to embrace, or reject any thing,<em>

_Is not whether it have any evil in it; but whether it have more of evil,_

_Than of good. There are few things wholly evil, or wholly good._"

~ Abraham Lincoln, June 20, 1848

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><p>9 – I Love A Mystery<p>

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><p>Sam wasn't sure when she woke up, or what had caused it. She turned over in the bed and buried her face in her pillow again, wanting to slip right back into her dream. She couldn't even remember what it had been about, but that didn't matter. It was a dream, and dreams meant sleep, which meant waking up and not being jet lagged anymore. She turned over onto her back again, trying to find a way back to dreamland, and suddenly realized why she was awake. She needed to pee.<p>

Grumbling to herself, she sat up and rubbed a clumsy hand over her face. Pants. Where were her pants? She never wore them to bed, not even in the New England winters when warm PJs made every kind of sense, instead preferring to cuddle up under a fluffy comforter. Since she wasn't at home, and Giles' place wasn't pants-optional, she needed to find the little devils before trudging out to the bathroom. She probably wouldn't run into Giles at this time of the night… or morning… or whatever time it was, but she didn't want to leave that up to chance. In her experience, things went wrong. They went wrong a lot. Murphy's Law basically worked double shifts in Sunnydale, so even with one-in-a-thousand odds of Giles actually being awake and out of his room, if she didn't take the time to put her pants on, it would pretty much guarantee that Giles would be in the hall and see her in her undies. The universe just seemed to work that way. She could handle being seen sans pants, but Giles would probably have an embarrassment-induced stroke.

A quick glance around the room and she spotted her sweatpants draped over the armchair which sat between her bed and the window. A few moments later she had tugged them most of the way on and was halfway to the door, nearly tripping over the stretchy fabric which was tangling itself around her feet instead of just sliding over them the way it was supposed to. By the time the waistband was actually at her waist, she had reached the door. Sure enough, the hallway was empty. Sam shook her head at herself as she stepped into the bathroom, muttering. "Well, I'm either superstitious, paranoid, or crazy. It's gotta be one of the three."

After she had used the toilet, she heard a noise coming from the ground floor. It was almost too faint to make out over the gurgling whoosh of the plumbing, so she washed her hands and quickly shut off the water, waiting for the toilet to finish running so she could listen for the noise again. She was drying her hands when she heard it again, a sort of muffled clanking. She frowned, trying to puzzle out what it was, and let her hands drop away from the towel. She ducked back into her room to slip into her bathrobe and then padded down the hall, listening intently, and made her way down the stairs as quietly as possible.

The only noise she heard was the creak of her own footfalls on the stairs, but when she got to the landing she paused, closing her eyes and focusing on the nighttime sounds of Giles' apartment.

Her own breathing? Check. Wind from outside blowing through tree branches for the requisite scary sound? Check. Refrigerator humming? Check. Chains clanking somewhere past the kitchen…

Wait.

Chains?

Why were there chains? There shouldn't be chains. This wasn't a horror movie, or a ghost story. Okay, yeah, Hellmouth and general wackiness, but the evil around here was hardly ever ambiguous, and it was very rarely sneaky. Ninety percent of the time it was some kind of monster bearing down on you and growling, not lurking somewhere trying to scare you with clanky-metal sounds, which, when you stopped to think about it, was really kind of pathetic… That is, the clanking-as-a-fear-tactic part was pathetic. Seeing a growling monster coming at you was always scary, even when there were other people and weapons and a Slayer on your side of things.

She moved the rest of the way down the stairs and over to the kitchen, keeping an ear out. Yep. There it was again: _clank... clank clank… _"Bloody rot._" Clank!_

Spike? And it sounded like he was in the study. Well, that solved part of the mystery, at least. The 'who' and 'where' parts, anyway. As for 'how', 'what' and 'why', she was still in the dark.

Sam got to the door of the study and, not knowing what else to do, she knocked. "Spike?" The clanking stopped abruptly. "Can I come in?" The door had been slightly ajar when she knocked, and the slight force of her knocks was enough to make it swing open as she finished speaking. She had turned the hallway light on, and enough of that light spilled into the study to let her fill in one more part of the story, the 'what' part, and now she almost wished that she had stayed upstairs to wonder about the mysterious clanking noises, because what she saw in the room took her breath away. Not in a good way or a fun way, or any other remotely pleasant way. No, this was something she had not expected, and it definitely was not of the good.

Spike was chained to a pipe which connected the radiator to the wall. His feet were braced against one of the radiator's supports and his arms were straight out in front of him, straining against the manacled chains that were locked around his wrists. He was in gameface, which was easy enough to see even with dried blood caked in a big smudge from his temple all the way down to his jaw, and for a second – the first second, actually – she saw just how scary he could be. Then the ridges faded away and his eyes melted back to blue, and he looked at her with a tired, pained, wary expression.

She heard herself make a strange, whimper-sigh kind of noise. He just… well, she was pretty sure how he would react if he knew that she was having the 'oh-you-poor-thing-let-me-cuddle-you-till-you're-better' kind of feelings that she always got when she saw a lost child or a skittish dog at the pound, so she wouldn't say anything to him about that train of thought.

"Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry."

Except that. That just kind of came out on it's own, but it pretty much covered the topic without going into too much detail, so that was okay. Besides which, now she knew exactly what she had to do.

TBC


	10. The Right Thing

Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

_A/N: I spent a few days binge-reading Gabrielle/VelvetWhip's stuff, and since I have the tendency to unintentionally mimic the style of anyone after reading upwards of 100k of their words in the course of two days, this chapter right here *points down to the dividers* has more first-persony and stream-of-consciousness narration than I normally do. I don't know if that will help or hurt the narrative flow, but I wanted to explain the sudden shift in style. I also don't know if I went overboard with Cuddly!Spike. Here's hoping he's in character enough for you guys. Now, in the words of Lowes Theaters: "Sit back and re-laax. Enjoy the show!"_

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><p>"<em>There is a universal truth that I have found in my work.<em>

_Everybody longs to be loved. And the greatest thing we can do_

_Is let somebody know that they are loved and capable of loving._"

~ Fred Rogers

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><p>10 – The Right Thing<p>

* * *

><p>"Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry."<p>

Before Spike could think of anything to say in reply, Sam had already flicked on the lights, rushed across the room and was kneeling by his side. She gently took hold of his hands and muttered in what sounded like Latin, and then the manacles 'clicked' open and fell away from his wrists. He let out a relieved, if otherwise unnecessary breath, and leaned away from her slightly to rest against the wall. Drywall wasn't the comfiest, but it would do for now.

"Thanks, pet."

Sam rested a hand on his shoulder and was giving him a look he couldn't easily decipher. Worry was definitely part of what he was seeing, but he wasn't sure what else was in the mix. "Are you okay? I mean, aside from your head… and your leg, and generally feeling shaky and crappy."

He gave a bitter chuckle. Didn't seem like she had left anything out. "Aside from all that? Yeah. Bloody fabulous." He blinked for a moment, confused. "What about my head?"

She gestured vaguely at the body part in question. "You've got a nasty cut on your left temple and your face is all bloody. I'm guessing it hurts. What happened?"

Spike reached a hand up to gently probe the injury with his fingertips. He had barely touched it when the pain flared up and he let out an involuntary hiss, shutting his eyes tight and waiting for the pain to recede again. "It bloody well hurts. I don't rightly know what happened. Giles…" He was about to say more when she squeezed his shoulder slightly, which was enough of a surprise to make him open his eyes and trail off.

Sam got up from her crouch and held out a hand, still giving him that fond – yeah, fondness was definitely part of the mix – that fond and worried look. "Hold that thought. How about I help you up and we get that cut taken care of? You can say whatever you were going to, but be sitting in the comfy overstuffed chair while you say it."

He smiled and took her proffered hand. "Sounds like a plan, luv." God, it felt good to have someone caring about him for a change. He wasn't sure he would ever get used to it, but he bloody well hoped he would get the chance to try. There was no way he was letting go of this girl. No way in hell.

The room wheeled around him as he got to his feet, and he instinctively wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders to keep himself steady. She made an odd noise when he did that, and as soon as the dizziness let up he looked at her curiously. "Pet?"

She wound her arm around his back, the gesture both supportive – literally – and affectionate. "Just glad that I didn't need to talk you into leaning on me this time." She kissed his cheek and then helped him the few steps to the chair, smiling the whole way. "Really hope this means your prickliness is a thing of the past."

He kissed her back, restraining himself to just a quick peck to her cheek. What he wanted to do was pull her close and plunder her mouth, but his balance was shot, so that was out of the question for the moment. Instead he lowered himself into the seat and let his head tip back to rest against the high back of Giles' well-and-truly-overstuffed leather chair.

"It is, love. Promised, didn't I? 'No more yellin' or bein' prickly'. 'S what I said, an' I meant it."

She nodded, smiling that fond smile as she moved back to the radiator and unwound the chains from it. "That you did."

Spike let his eyes slide shut as he sank into the leather, feeling his muscles relax and just enjoying how the seat enveloped him. Oh yeah. This was a good chair. Not nearly as good as giving his girl a proper kiss, but for a concussed, starving gimp of a vampire, sitting in a comfortable chair was pretty high on the list of enjoyable things. With its rolled arms and brass rivets, this piece wouldn't have looked out of place in William Pratt's own study. Huh. Odd for him to be thinking about that now. He hadn't spared a thought for his human self for a very long time. Would human William have cared for Samantha? He wasn't sure, but it hardly mattered.

His eyes shot open when he heard Sam heading for the door. "Pet? Where are you goin'?" She had said something about cleaning up his cut. He hoped that meant she was just going to get some water and bandages. Of course, he wasn't worried about her coming back from wherever she was headed off to. Nope, not remotely concerned.

Well, maybe just a little.

Sam smiled, that worried, fond, sympathetic – at least he was figuring out what that look meant – smile again and lifted the chains. "Just gonna put these somewhere Giles won't find 'em."

Judging by her reassuring tone, he must have sounded pretty needy. Great. So much for acting nonchalant. Best to keep the focus on something other than himself. "It's his house, love. Where ya gonna put 'em?"

Her smile turned mischievous and she quirked an eyebrow at him. "I don't think he looks behind the boxes on the upper shelf of his guestroom closet very often." Her face clouded as she seemed to change her mind. She came back to the chair, frowned, and put the chains down on a side table, shaking her head and looking angry, even though her voice was calm. "Actually, I'd better put them up there when I go back to bed. If I went up there now…" She shook her head again, and he thought he could hear her grinding her teeth slightly. "Giles has some serious 'splainin' to do." When she opened her eyes again she seemed to have calmed slightly, but she still looked upset enough that Spike was glad he wouldn't be the target of her anger.

He tried to raise both eyebrows and winced when the motion sent a fresh jolt of pain through his temple. Rupert was clearly at the top of her shit list. Good. Watcher-boy had it coming.

He smirked, giving her a searching look. "You gonna tear upstairs, love, read Rupert the riot act?" Oh yeah. He really wouldn't want to be Giles right now. Might want to watch the right bastard get what was coming to him, though.

She shook her head again and headed for the door once more. "Not right now. Getting all that blood off of you and taking care of your cut are more important."

Spike blinked as the warm fuzzies returned, stronger than ever. More important. Someone thought that making sure he was okay was the most important thing on the agenda. It certainly was a night of firsts. He felt a goofy grin start to spread over his face, and hoped like hell he would be able to play it cool by the time she got back. He had his pride, after all. True enough it looked like Swiss cheese at the moment, but still…

He saw the light go on in the bathroom and heard the tap come on. Sam's footsteps headed out of the bathroom and down the hall towards the living room, and then he heard her open one of the kitchen cabinets. She moved back to the bathroom and then came back to the study with a gently steaming bowl of water in one hand, a clean washcloth in the other and a first aid kit tucked under her arm. Seems she wasn't kidding about getting him cleaned up. She set the bowl down on the side table next to his chair and dipped part of the cloth into the water.

Spike quirked a surprised eyebrow, but the gesture turned into a wince when she pressed part of the wet washcloth to his bloodied temple.

She moved into his line of sight and frowned worriedly. "That hurt?"

He nodded slightly. "Just a bit."

"Sorry about that." She gently held the cloth against his cheek and made a slight clucking sound with her tongue, which seemed to be a universal thing amongst nurturing females. "I'm gonna try to get the blood damp enough so I can wipe it away. Should hurt less and come off easier, but I still have to clean up the bruise that's lurking under there. I'll save that part for last."

He didn't nod this time because he didn't want to dislodge her hand. "Feels nice though, how warm you got the water. So, you were sayin'? 'Bout ol' Rupes?"

She smiled, carefully wiping away a bit of softened blood from his cheekbone. "If I went up there now, it'd just turn into a screaming match, and I wouldn't get the result I want. Best way is to wait until morning to tell him that I think he's acting like a stupid piece of shit." Spike chuckled at that, but it turned into a wince as she continued dabbing at the dried blood. She gave him a lop-sided smile. "I'll word it better than that, but with him, to get anywhere I'd have to use logic and some kind of emotional judo, like with how I convinced him to go over to Willow's, and I'm way too upset right now to pull that off."

Spike frowned in confusion, even though he was enjoying – immensely enjoying – being fussed over. For one thing, Sam had sat down on one of the arms of his chair, so her… bouncy female attributes were pretty much right at his eye level, and frankly, it was a glorious view. Glorious to the point where he was having some trouble focusing on their conversation. "Uhm…upset, luv? Over what?"

"You, of course!" Her sudden vehemence took him by surprise, and he tried not to jump, as much because he didn't want to derail her train of thought as for the embarrassment factor. "I don't like seeing you in pain. It…" she sighed and shook her head, looking down at the crimson-stained cloth in her hands. "It hurt, seeing you chained up and bloody and… well, clearly not having a fun time. You had this look on your face that… I never want that look to be on your face again, like you're just wondering when the next shitty thing will happen to you and what kind of bad its gonna be. I just want to help you feel better… more like your old self." She lifted her eyes to him again, smiling helplessly and flustered, and he thought that he'd never seen anything as beautiful as she was in that moment, rumpled hair and lack of makeup be damned. "Is any of this making sense?"

Her reasoning, yeah, that made sense, but the fact that she was so worked up over him? That part had him confused, or at least surprised. He was still having trouble adjusting to the new state of things, where this lovely bird looked after him as a matter of course and cared so much about wanting him to be happy, putting him first. Why was it that some blokes pissed and moaned about it? Maybe 'cause they wanted to feel like they were callin' the shots, bein' the one to protect _her_ all the time? That was rubbish. It had to go both ways, protecting each other, not just one person doin' all the frettin' an such, or else the person who cared less would eventually leave. He had learned that the hard way, after Dru. Knowing your girl cares about you, that she wants to make all your pain and discomfort just float away… he really couldn't think of anything better, and had no idea how he had suddenly found himself in such an enviable position. Those thick sods didn't know how good they had it.

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and reached out to rest his hand on top of hers. "Yeah, pet. Perfect sense, an' I can't tell you how much it means, knowing you care 'bout me like that."

Sam beamed at him, taking in a happy breath and oh… that was a lovely sound. After a few moments, she cleared her throat and made a visible effort to get back to business. "Well, lets finish getting you cleaned up."

"Whatever you say, pet." Spike let his eyes close and rested his head against the cushioned leather, being mindful to keep it at an angle where Sam could still reach the banged-up part of his face. The only real sleep he'd gotten in recent memory was the few hours of napping with Sam on Giles' couch, and he was still knackered.

For a few minutes the room was quiet except for Sam's breathing, and Spike felt himself starting to drift off, lulled by the gentle and warm, if wet, touches of the washcloth. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine that he was actually being gently licked by a big dog. The touches moved further up his face, closer to the wound and the bruise surrounding it. She gently pressed and dabbed and wiped, moving across his bruised temple and ever closer to the wound itself, making sympathetic noises all the while. He tried not to wince as Sam cleaned the tender skin. He'd kept his eyes closed while she worked, but gradually he'd gone from dozing to consciously pressing them shut as a way of riding out the less than fun process at hand. Of course, the discomfort she was unintentionally causing paled in comparison to the many other times during his long un-life when he had been in pain, but since she was being so solicitous he didn't want her to feel responsible for each little flinch or hiss.

"There." Sam patted his shoulder, and he opened his eyes. "That's as clean as I can get it. Just need to put a bandage on it, and… well, I'm guessing you don't need to worry about infections, right?"

Spike nodded in confirmation. "Yeah. Don't think it even needs a bandage. Should heal up on its own in a few days."

She paused in wringing out her washcloth into the bowl of pink-tinged water and gave him a pleading look over her shoulder. "Humor me? Until you get your strength back you'll be healing more slowly than usual. Besides, it'll feel better if it's bandaged, and that'll make sure the wound doesn't get re-opened."

"Okay, pet." He smiled at her fondly. Two days ago, if anyone had told him that somebody attached to the Scoobies would be looking after him like this, he would have laughed at the absurdity. Now, he just felt, well... _lucky_. "Go ahead and fix me up, if it'll get you ta stop you fussin'."

She brandished the washcloth at him. As weapons go, it wasn't exactly fearsome, and he tried very, very hard not to laugh at the visual. "Don't get cheeky with me, mister. I may reconsider helping you." Her reply was accompanied by a playful scowl which let him know that the threat wasn't sincere. "So," she opened the first aid kit and set to work. "You were starting to tell me how you wound up chained to the radiator."

"Right." He creased his brow and sifted through what had happened. "As soon as you were in your room, the watcher pointed his crossbow at me and told me to walk down the hall. We got in here, Rupes was sayin' summat about how you were too attached to me… an' he was bein' a right prat about it, too. I think I started to turn around, an' then it all went black."

While he was talking, Sam had put a bit of ointment on the gash and gently laid a pad of gauze over it. "Did he hit you, or did something else happen?" Now she was smoothing some medical tape over the bandage to hold it in place. And frowning to herself, looking angry again.

"I dunno. I…" he closed his eyes, trying to remember. There was something, a sensation that might be the missing piece to the puzzle, but it was just beyond his reach. He huffed slightly, annoyed at himself for not being able to fill in the blanks. "Sorry, luv. Guess that knock scrambled my noggin a bit."

"It's okay." He felt it when she smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his bandaged temple. "Just one more thing for me to bitch at Giles about in the morning." Her lips lingered just above his skin while she spoke, the warm breath of her speech gently caressing his face. The hands she had been using to affix his bandage slipped around his neck, and she pressed another kiss to his cheekbone, then one to the corner of his jaw, and Spike let out a moan which sounded much more like a grateful whimper than he would have liked.

"Mmhm… Oh, pet."

They started kissing in earnest, now. Lips on lips, cool sliding against and between and over warm. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, needing more, needing to make her his beyond a shadow of a doubt. She responded eagerly, sliding off of the chair arm and onto his lap, only breaking contact with his mouth when she needed air. For the moment, there was nothing but hands and lips and the two of them twined together. This was what he had wanted earlier but hadn't felt steady enough to try. Of course, now that they were sitting there were all sorts of possibilities… Spike smiled against her lips as an idea took shape, and he snaked one arm around her waist and under her bathrobe, using that hand to gain access to the waistband of her stretchy PJ pants. After some slight fumbling, during which they kept kissing, his fingertips touched skin and his hand started to make steady progress across her lower belly.

Spike was less than a hand's-breadth from his goal when she grabbed his wrist, halting its advance, and pulled out of the kiss with a breathless murmur of, "Not yet."

He stared at her, hurt and confused as to what had gone wrong. Sam was panting slightly, her pupils dilated and heart pounding, all of which confirmed that she wanted him and that she was well and truly turned on. His nose served as double confirmation of that last part. So why had she pulled away? He withdrew his hand, suddenly terrified that history would be repeating itself yet again and hoping against hope that if he just did as she asked and didn't force the issue, she wouldn't leave. Not that he _could _force the issue if he wanted to, not in his current state, anyway, and even if he could do it without getting a blinding migraine, he suspected that unlike Harm, Sam probably _wouldn't _appreciate that kind of force. He shook himself slightly, pushing aside those thoughts in favor of finding out what was going on in his girl's head.

"Darling, what is it?"

Sam smiled at the endearment, which was encouraging, and she ran one hand back through his hair as she spoke. "Spike, this is going really _really _well, but it's also a little fast for me." She leaned forward as she went on, holding him close and kissing his hair and, oh… that felt nice. Whatever else she was about to say, the feel of her lips murmuring against his ear was a wonderful thing. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I don't want to lead you on or get you all worked up and then not… well, 'finish', I guess, but this is just so new and I don't want to rush it."

He felt himself sagging in relief. So she wasn't letting him down easy. In fact, she had called him 'sweetheart'. It was reassuring that he wasn't the only one using pet names. It put them on more of an even footing. Also, she was still hugging him and he belatedly realized that he wasn't returning the embrace. He was about to fix that when she sat back from him and shifted her weight slightly.

"Bloody hell!"

Unfortunately, she wound up leaning on his left thigh and he groaned in pain at the unexpected pressure to his troublesome leg.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry."

Her eyes went wide and she scrambled to sit on the chair arm again, struggling somewhat because she hadn't fully withdrawn her arms from hugging him. "Oh, sweetie… here, I'll move. There, that should help."

Moving back to the chair arm didn't work, mainly since she wouldn't completely let go of him, so instead she knelt on the seat of the chair, placing her knees on either side of his right leg. As soon as she was wholly off his lap, she kissed his head and pulled him forward into a tight but ungainly hug. He clutched her to himself and let out a sigh, listening to the staccato of her heartbeat as she stroked his hair with warm fingers and apologized over and over. It was, well, baffling, really. So many repetitions of _'I'm sorry' _for such a minor offense. He couldn't help wondering how she would deal with a more serious one.

Much as he was enjoying… scratch that, he was _reveling _in her attentions, but he didn't want her to feel so badly about what had essentially been a mistake. "It was an accident, pet. Wasn't fun, but no harm done." He rubbed a gentle hand over her back. "Don't take it so hard, okay?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "Okay." A pregnant pause, and then, "What about the other thing? Is that okay too, 'cause you didn't really get a chance to answer it before." Sam was sitting on her heels, which put her a head or so taller than him and meant that their waists were about two feet apart. Not ideal for an embrace lasting more than a few moments.

Spike sat back from the awkward hug and hoped that she wouldn't think he was figuratively pulling away. "Can't say I'm thrilled 'bout that, but if you need us to slow down, we will." He smiled to let her know that he wasn't angry. He wasn't exactly pleased, either, but he wasn't about to ruin things between them by letting Spike Jr do the thinking. "I want you, luv. I want to _be_ with you for as long as you'll have me, but more'n that, I want you to be happy 'bout bein' with me, so 'til you say the word, I won't be tryin' to get your knickers off."

"Thanks." She gave him a grateful smile and stood up. "Don't think I'll keep you waiting long, but… well, with your leg and all, I'd like for you to be healed a little more before we do any naked things together. I'd be worrying too much about pressing on the wrong spots and accidentally hurting you to actually enjoy it." Sam offered him a hand up. "Want to go sit on the couch?"

He took her hand and used the other to push himself to his feet. "Couch sounds lovely, pet." Once he was standing, he leaned on her once again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and used his free hand to gingerly rub at his sore thigh. Any time it wanted to stop being such a bloody nuisance was fine by him.

He saw Sam frowning at the motion out of the corner of his eye, but didn't think anything of it until she spoke. "I don't know if this is something you'd want to try, but I learned a kind of battlefield-healing spell from a coven in Italy."

Spike looked at her curiously. He had no idea where she was going with this. "That so?"

"Yeah." They started for the door and she went on. "Some of the battlefield nurses in World War Two were wiccans, and they came up with this neat charm that removed shrapnel from soldiers' wounds. It didn't actually do any healing, really, just gave them better odds for surviving, and I thought it could be useful so I wrote it down. A lot of the covens are generational, so a few of the women I met are the daughters and granddaughters of those nurses, and they showed me how to do it. You said it felt like the arrowhead was still in your leg, so if it is, I can use the charm to remove it."

He was touched by the offer, but wary of taking her up on it. After all, he remembered that story about her making a big pea-soup cloud by mistake. "I dunno, pet. Mojo can be a bit unpredictable."

She nodded, looking from him to the doorway and back again. "Yeah, it can, but as long as I focus, pay attention to getting all of the details right, and stay centered, it should work. My spells work the way they're supposed to nine times out of ten."

He squeezed her shoulders as they stepped into the hall. At least the odds were encouraging. "I'll think about it, pet."

"Thanks." She smiled up at him. "I know it's a big deal, and I wouldn't bring it up if I didn't think it would help, but it's your call."

Her words prompted him to smile, and he leaned into her. "Thanks. Just don't rush me, yeah?"

Sam tightened the arm which she had wrapped around his back. "I wouldn't dream of it."

TBC


	11. Old Wounds

Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

_Spoilers for 5x07 'Fool For Love'. All dialogue quoted from that episode belongs to Doug Petrie._

_The title for this chapter comes from a Spike-centric comic set during 'Angel', season 5, written by Scott Tipton._

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><p>"<em>Poetry is not only dream and vision;<em>

_It is the skeleton architecture of our lives._

_It lays the foundations for a future of change,_

_A bridge across our fears of what has never been before."_

_~ Audre Lorde_

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><p>11 – Old Wounds<p>

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><p>Neither of them said anything else as they neared the couch, but the silence was comfortable. When they got there, Spike sat but Sam stayed on her feet. He looked up at her curiously. "Pet?"<p>

She nodded in the direction of the study. "I'm just gonna put away the first aid kit and dump out that bowl of water." Her voice was a stage whisper, and he cocked his head, giving her a puzzled look.

"Why so quiet all of a sudden?" For all his demony-rebelliousness, he still matched her low tone.

She stepped closer to the fireplace but still faced the couch and focused on the ceiling, nodding that Spike should do the same. "Because Giles' bedroom is right above us and he doesn't really have a wall on this side, so sound carries, and I still don't want to confront him 'till the morning."

Spike leaned forward slightly and followed her gaze. She was right. Instead of a proper drywall-and-paint situation, the side of Giles' bedroom which faced the downstairs fireplace consisted of a four-foot-tall wrought iron railing which would do nothing to muffle sound. In fact, now that he was paying attention, Spike realized that not only could he hear the ex-watcher softly snoring, but he could also make out the man's steady heartbeat.

"Okay, pet. He a heavy sleeper, though? 'Cause I don't plan on talkin' like this for too much longer."

No reply. Spike sat back against the cushions and looked around but didn't see her. There was really no point in calling out to find her, since raising his voice enough to be heard would mean waking their genial host, and he wasn't too keen on doing that. Not only would it make Sam cross, but nothing good would come from making the ex-watcher cranky. Of course, there were always exceptions to the rule; like that one time when a maddened, grief-fueled Rupes had beaten Angelus about the head and torso with a flaming baseball bat for killing the gypsy teacher. Now _that _had been fun to watch. So much fun, in fact, that Spike hadn't let Dru jump into the fray to rescue her sire, since he was hoping that Giles might finish the job, or at least soften Captain Forehead up enough so the slayer could dust him. No such luck, but a fella could dream.

Spike closed his eyes and listened, trying to pin down where Sam was. Good thing he had vamp senses, because he could hear her moving from the study to the bathroom. A moment later it sounded like she was dumping water down the bathroom sink, and then he heard a cabinet open and close before her footsteps headed towards the kitchen. She was carrying something that clanked slightly, probably the shackles. A quick look confirmed that she was in the kitchen and had left the shackles on the breakfast bar while she put the now-empty bowl in the sink.

Sam side-stepped to the fridge and looked inside, making a happy noise at whatever it was she saw. "Looks like the blood fairy stopped by." She looked back over her shoulder with a smile and caught his eye. "You want me to heat up a couple mugs?"

He nodded, "Ta, pet. Glad Rupes actually stocked up an' all, but that soddin' stuff is pretty foul tasting."

"Does pig's blood taste much different than human?" She took a gallon jug of ruby red out of the fridge and snagged two coffee mugs out of the drying rack.

He watched her set up the mugs for a second, puzzled by the randomness of the question, and then he shrugged. Girl must have lots of questions about vamps, and he reasoned that this was probably one of them. "Bit more sour, acidic like, and kind of fatty."

She smiled shakily. "So, more like liver than a T-bone?"

"Somethin' like that."

"Want me to try doctoring it with spices or something? I could try to make it less acidic and sweeter, or maybe kind of spicy."

Spike let his eyes close and listened as she moved around the kitchen. "Don't really care, luv. I'm just bleedin' starved."

"It won't take long. I just figure, you should at least get to enjoy what you're eating instead of having to choke it down." He opened his eyes at that and smiled over at her. She really didn't do things halfway, did she? "It'll just be an extra minute or two. That quick enough for ya?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah." He'd have to be a bloody fool to refuse her offer, especially after everything she had already done for him, so instead he turned to face the fireplace and, much more importantly, the TV. He had the remote in hand when his unanswered question from before came up again. "Rupes a heavy sleeper? We aren't whispering anymore an' I can still hear 'im snorin' away up there. Think the telly'd wake 'im?"

She made a thoughtful noise. "I guess he could sleep through it. As long as you don't turn it up too loud and keep an ear out to make sure he's not waking up, it should be okay."

"Works for me, luv." He clicked on the set and started flipping channels. Infomercial… infomercial… crappy movie… off-air signal… infomercial… "Ugh. Know if there's anything good on? Not used to watchin' stuff at this hour. M' usually… out."

Spike censored himself at the last second, realizing how deeply stupid it would have been to finish that statement with any honest specifics like 'out hunting' or 'busy killing your kind.' Being involved with someone who until recently would have only registered as a human Happy Meal meant that some topics were just bound to be tricky. It reminded him a little of the first time he'd been in the Summer's living room, a year and a half earlier, and had realized that if he was going to be working with the Slayer to stop Angelus, he'd have to look at things from a human perspective. Same thing was true now, but this time it was something he'd need to do on a more regular basis.

Sam closed the fridge and chuckled. "Don't have to ask what you were doing 'out', do I? Spike, I know what vamps usually do from sundown until dawn, so you don't have to pussyfoot around it. Just spare me the details unless I ask for 'em, okay?"

He hadn't realized that he'd tensed up until he felt his shoulders relax. "You got it, pet." Again: new territory. Sam wasn't anywhere near Buffy's level of tightly-wound or holier-than-thou, but she did have a bit of a self-righteous streak. However, that seemed to work in his favor more often than not.

After a few tell-tale beeps the microwave whirred to life, promising warmed and possibly even palatable blood before too long. Sam drummed her fingers on the countertop. "I don't remember what the channel numbers are here, but Nick at Nite and TV Land usually have good stuff around now. It's mainly sitcoms from the sixties and seventies, and sometimes the commercials are retro, too. You know: _'Mr. Whipple! Please don't squeeze the Charmin!'_ I like that kind of stuff." She paused. "Spike?"

He kept clicking the remote, hoping to find one of those oldies channels. "Yeah, pet. I'm lookin'. Telly's a wasteland this time of night."

Sam's footsteps moved towards the couch area and then stopped a few feet from him. "Not that. You ever get a song stuck in your head?"

"Sometimes. Why?" A slightly grainy image with faded colors came on the screen, along with vaguely familiar voices and clothes and furniture that practically screamed 'disco'. "Oh. Hang on. I know this show! Two birds and a bloke live together in the same flat, and the bloke pretends to be a poofter so the landlord won't make a fuss."

She came a little closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Sounds like you found it."

He looked up, puzzled by her mild tone. Wasn't she pleased that he'd found the right channel? Bloody hell, there he went again, seeking approval for little things and feeling put out when he didn't get it. In other words, being love's bitch. Wouldn't he ever learn? He didn't love her, which was sort of reassuring, but considering how things were going, he knew that it was only a matter of time before he was head-over-heels for her. Best part this time was he knew for a fact that it wasn't one-sided. She wanted him, had called him 'sweetheart' and 'sweetie', and then of course there was the kissing and discussions involving 'us' and 'we'. All of that gave him hope that what they had might actually… no. He didn't want to jinx it. Also, there was still Rupert and his crossbow to consider, not to mention the rest of the Scoobies and all of their assorted weapons. He grimaced. Yeah, mutual affection was fine and dandy, but that didn't mean other bollocks wouldn't get in the way of them being happy together.

Unaware of his introspection, she smiled, shaking her head and wearing an expression he couldn't read. "So, I've got something stuck in my head. But it's not a song. It's a poem." The microwave beeped, startling her enough that she jumped a tiny bit. "I'll get those for you." A nervous flash of a smile and she headed towards the kitchen, apparently not noticing that his jaw had gone slack when she said the word 'poem'.

Sam retrieved the mugs of blood and walked back to him, speaking as she moved. "So, the poem currently running around in my brain goes like this:

'_Higgeldy-piggeldy  
><em>_Emily Dickinson  
><em>_Liked to use dashes  
><em>_Instead of full stops._

_Nowadays faced  
><em>_With such idiosyncrasy  
><em>_Critics and editors  
><em>_Call for the cops.'"_

She shook her head and gave Spike the first mug. "I think I read that one in highschool when we were studying poetry for half a semester. Always liked how playful it was."

He took a small mouthful of blood and blinked at her, trying very hard to form a coherent thought. Aside from being pleased and surprised, and also mildly suspicious and on guard, especially considering the topic, Spike wasn't sure what he thought of this new development. The mug was nearly drained before he managed a stumbling reply, sounding so much like human William when he did speak that he nearly cringed. "Is, um… is that your favorite poem?" He had an awful feeling of being back in Cecily's drawing room, the sound of mocking laughter still ringing in his ears.

She shook her head again, settling in next to him and all but ignoring the TV. "I don't have a favorite poem because it's just so hard to choose, and also it really depends on my mood. My favorite poets are Robert Frost, Lewis Carroll and Shakespeare. Also Shel Silverstein, but he's more of a guilty pleasure, and Poe's less morbid stuff. The way he used language in 'The Raven', the rhythms and sounds he put together are just… well, it's almost hypnotic."

This topic was a conversational minefield, with far too many opportunities to foul up, humiliate himself and open old wounds. Best to change the subject. "Dunno what you did to this blood, Sam, but it tastes much better than what I had earlier today."

She gave a pleased smile. "I'm glad it helped. I put a quarter teaspoon of baking soda in both mugs to kill the acidity, and added different spices to each, just trying to see what might work. I think that one," she nodded at the one in his hand, "has half a teaspoon of paprika, and the other has a quarter teaspoon each of cinnamon and clove."

He polished off the dregs and smiled, nodding as he set the mug down on the coffee table. "'M glad you took the time to season it, 'cause the spice works a treat. I tasted the paprika in there. Gives it a nice bit of heat."

Sam handed him the other mug, all but preening at his praise. "Glad you liked it. Hope this one works out, too."

Spike took the proffered mug with a nod and sat back to drink it, feeling pleased with himself. Subject changed, face saved, girl happy and hunger satisfied. All is well.

"So, Spike, do you like poetry?"

Bloody hell.

She watched him closely enough that he fought the urge to fidget nervously. He had played enough poker to know that looking ruffled would be a dead giveaway.

He didn't see a way to avoid the question, at least, not one that would convincingly make his reluctance to answer it seem casual. Trying to change the subject a second time would only peak Sam's interest and most likely ensure that she started digging around to find out why he didn't want to talk about it. In the long run, just answering her curiosity now was a much simpler and painless plan, as long as he stayed away from too many specifics.

Well, here goes. "Yeah. Frost did that 'roads in the wood' one, right? Always liked that, the way he talked about trying to decide which way to go an' wound up goin' the way most people didn't."

She grinned at him. "That one is good, but my favorite of his is '_Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening_'. There is this one stanza in '_The Raven_', though, that I just love. I know the first six or so, and I think this is the third:

'_And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain  
><em>_Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;  
><em>_So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating  
><em>_`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -  
><em>_Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -  
><em>_This it is, and nothing more.'"_

Sam had closed her eyes as she recited it. Now she opened them again, a beatific smile on her face. "That first line, the 'silken sad uncertain rustling' it just… I can hear it and see it. That's one thing really good poetry can do. It paints a picture using more than one of the five senses." She shifted a bit on the couch and leaned into his side.

Spike put his arm around her again and kissed the top of her head, murmuring, "You recite beautifully, darling." He still had the affected Spike accent, but those words were all William. Every syllable of them.

"Thank you." She snuggled into him, rested her head on his shoulder, and took his hand. "Is there any poetry you know by heart?"

Bollocks. Now he was well and truly screwed. Call it 'elephant in the room' syndrome, but the only poems he could think of were his own feeble efforts, and there was no dodging that question. Well, good a time as any to see how Sam would react. He had already seen her deal with a watered down version of the Big Bad. What would she think of William Pratt's 'bloody awful' poetry?

"There is one verse I remember. I'm not sure where I heard it." He gave her a look and hoped like hell that she wouldn't know he was lying. "I think the author died 'fore any of his stuff was published." The last part was true enough, except for the fact that he had never believed any of his 'scribblings' were worth publishing, and so he hadn't ever tried. He squeezed his eyes shut and tensed the arm around her shoulders. Nearly one hundred and twenty years of being a vampire, fighting demons and Slayers and his own sadistic grandsire, but he still felt as nervous as he had all those years ago in Cecily Addams' drawing room. If he were alive, his palms would have been sweating up a storm. He shook his head at himself. No need to get tied up in knots over this. Might as well get it over with. It was just a bloody poem, after all.

Right. Now if only _he_ believed that…

"It went something like:

'_My heart expands,  
><em>'_tis grown a bulge in 't  
><em>_Inspired by your beauty  
><em>_Effulgent_.'"

Sam tipped her head up to look at him, wearing a confused expression. "What does 'effulgent' mean? Don't think I've heard that word before."

Spike blinked. That was all she had to say? It couldn't be. "It's, uhh… it means somethin' luminous, gleaming or glistening, lettin' off some kind of light."

She was quiet, and he tried, tried very hard not to panic or start acting defensive and give himself away.

He shrugged, hoping like hell that he sounded nonchalant. "S' just as well it never saw the light of day, really. It's rubbish." Bad move. He'd nearly given himself away that time by being so honest. If she paid close enough attention to what he just said, she'd have no problem working out who the author actually was. Spike tensed, hoping she wouldn't figure it out.

She shook her head against him, disagreeing without any hesitation. "No, it isn't. Rubbish, I mean." She looked up at him, starting to smile in a thoughtful sort of way. "I think… Well, you said it was unfinished?"

Spike nodded, wary and hoping that he was doing a good job of hiding the fact that he was hanging on her every word. "Early draft, I think."

She gave him a lop-sided smile. "Well, it… it really does sound like a first draft, but it's sweet and evocative. The idea is there, and the idea, the inspiration, the… _feeling_ is the most important part about poetry. After that, everything else, trying to make it pretty and polished and elegant, that's all superficial. That's just the wrapping paper. It isn't the words of a love poem that you want to hold on to. It's the emotions they inspire."

Words from a century ago, spoken in a halting, hesitant voice which he hadn't used in ages, came back to him as clearly as if they had been spoken minutes ago:

"_And - and, please, if they're no good, they're only words. But the feeling behind them... I love you, Cecily."_

Sam understood. She understood what he had been trying to say so many lifetimes ago. That the words themselves didn't matter. It was what they conveyed which was important.

He rubbed her shoulder, having no idea of how to explain why he was so happy without giving away his secret. "What tipped you off to it being unfinished?"

Sam settled against him, staring at the TV but still thinking about the poem which she didn't know was his. "A couple things. The whole 'bulge in't' thing was sort of crass, but in a high-handed way. Or classy. Classy and crass, but not in a way that's fun and subversive. It's more clumsy, I guess, but since it's an unfinished work y'can't expect perfection. I'm sure the author would have got it right eventually. Unless someone is a genius or has some seriously gifted muses, the first draft of anything that short is bound to be kind of messy. That's what first drafts are for. Also, its why I try not to write anything down until I won't be embarrassed by it."

Spike stared at her and she started to fidget, seeming uncomfortable.

She started talking again, sounding unsure and apologetic. "Sorry. It's the editor in me. When I read or hear something that needs improvement, I can't really help myself. Hazard of proof-reading too many of my friend's papers in school. Mind if I take a stab at improving it?"

He shrugged, affecting indifference. "Go right ahead, pet. I don't think the author would mind. Not sure how you're gonna fix it, though."

She gave a slight shrug. "Shouldn't be too hard." Sam frowned in concentration for a minute or so, and then, with no real warning she jumped right into it.

"'_My heart expands  
><em>_When I am in your presence  
><em>_Your beauty is itself  
><em>_Phosphorescence_.'"

She cocked her head at him quizzically, blinking in a borderline annoyed sort of way. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Spike realized that he must have been staring at her. He only hoped that his mouth hadn't been hanging open too far. "Nothing, sorry. I just… I'm impressed, is all, that you came up with that so quick."

She gave a modest shrug. "It wasn't hard. Once you told me what 'effulgent' meant, all I had to do was think of a synonym for 'glowing' which also had to do with a natural light source, since an individual's beauty is a kind of a natural radiance. Radium really doesn't work for the theme, cause, side effects and that would be a mixed message, but then I thought of phosphorous, and what might rhyme with a form of that word, and with the rhyme scheme of the second and fourth lines rhyming with each other… it just sort of clicked into place." She chuckled. "Y'know, all of that seemed so much simpler in my head before I said it out loud."

He couldn't help it. He pulled her into a short, passionate kiss, pouring all of his joy and gratitude and everything else that he couldn't verbalize into the embrace. When their mouths parted, he cupped her cheek in his hand and lovingly ran his thumb over the corner of her lips. "You have a remarkable mind, pet."

Sam was a little breathless and surprised, but smiling up at him with a gleam in her eyes. "And you just remarked on it, which proves your point." Her expression turned curious. "What was that about? The kiss?"

Spike was terrified for a fraction of a second, thinking he'd given himself away again, but then he smiled. He didn't actually have to come up with a lie. The truth, or most of it, would work as an answer. "Like I said, Sam. You have one hell of a great mind, and that's just one of the reasons I want you."

She gave him a cocky, flirtatious little smile and tapped the end of his nose with her finger. "Well, then I guess I'll keep showing off for you. Of course, my brain might need a little encouragement if you want it to keep doing tricks."

"That so?" He grinned and kissed her forehead. "That enough of a treat for you to tell me what else you were thinking?"

"Yeah, for now, but I'll expect more of that kind of treat whenever you want part of me to do something special." She quirked one eyebrow suggestively and then settled against him. "So, the verse you recited. The only other thing about it I didn't like was the elision. Unless it's Shakespeare, slant rhyme and elision really bug me. I mean, he's the Bard, so he can get away with it, but anyone else… it just seems like a cheat to preserve meter and rhyme scheme instead of taking the time to pick a word that fits better, or like they're trying _way _too hard to sound like Shakespeare. Still, like I already said, it was great for an unfinished verse, and the idea was beautiful. It just needed to be polished."

Spike held her closer for a few moments, his emotions jumbled up into a confusing mess of worry, joy and regret. Everything she had said about the poem after asking what 'effulgent' meant. It had been… no, it _was_ the most insightful and kindest critique he had ever gotten on one of his poems. His mother had only ever complimented them, which had been lovely, but to have someone who actually knew something about poetry giving, what did they call it? 'Constructive criticism'… it felt great. More than that, she was taking his work seriously, which was just... Of course, she didn't _know _that it was his work, and he meant to keep it that way. Let this wonderful girl find out that he had been a hack of a milk-sop poet before he was turned? Not bloody likely. Well then, back to the topic at hand. She'd said summat about… yeah, that was it.

"You polished it rather handily."

Cripes. _'Handily'_? '_Rather'? _Now he was sounding even more like William. Of course, it wasn't like Spike and William were two separate people. They were different pieces of him, not always distinct, often blurring into one another, but they made him who he was. Large parts of him still were and probably always would be William; the love-lorn poet and caretaker of his ailing mother, but he was also Spike; devil-may-care brawler and Slayer of Slayers. Becoming 'Spike' had helped him to survive his fledgling days and make a reputation for himself once Angelus was out of the picture, but in tender moments with Drusilla, and now with Sam, he found himself acting more like his human self.

She shrugged against him. "Easy enough when someone else has done almost all of the work."

This girl was humble, at least when it counted, kind, brilliant and attractive. He was sure that human William would have adored Samantha, had he gotten the chance to know her. His life would have been so different if they had… what? Been born in the same century? He shook his head at the idea. No use pining over 'what-ifs'. Sam was here with him now, and that was what mattered.

"So, who was the author?"

Oh no. No, she can't find out. Pretend that you don't care. Say to yourself 'Spike, I don't give a rat's arse if she finds out.' "Uhm, I don't remember, actually. Just like with that poem you rattled off. It stuck in my mind an' I don't really know why."

Sam tipped her head and regarded him thoughtfully. "But you said it was an unfinished work by an unpublished author, so how would you even know about it, and why would you have it memorized?"

Bloody rot. Too smart by half, that's what she was.

She went on, studying him as she spoke. "Also, you seemed pretty, well, invested in it and what I had to say about it."

Spike swallowed, putting on his best 'I don't give a damn' face. "Don't know what you mean, luv." The 'indifferent' act was wearing thin, and he knew it. Worse yet, he suspected that she knew it, too. Still, it was his best shot if he wanted to save face.

There was a hint of sadness in her eyes as she took his hand and laced their fingers together, still looking at him intently. "Please don't lie to me, sweetheart. Think I've earned better treatment than that."

He shut his eyes and let his head fall back, feeling like a cad. Wait, 'cad'? Did he really just use that word to describe himself? Well, there was William again, picking words for him. "I don't want to lie to you, Sam. It's just, there are some things that…"

A not-so-gentle squeeze to his hand made him open his eyes. "Don't you trust me?" The note of hurt in her tone was almost too much for him.

Spike nodded, not looking at her. "Yeah, I do trust you."

Strange, how she had found a way into his heart so quickly. Maybe that was why he hadn't tried harder to dodge her questions or change the subject, why he had wanted to hear what she thought of the last thing which he had created before he had been unmade. He didn't want to lie to her. He wanted her to know him, _really_ know every last bit of him, and accept him, even love him for all of it. Still, with pain from past rejections on his mind, he couldn't help worrying that the same thing might happen again. Drusilla's infidelities and ultimate disdain for him was still so fresh, and although Cecily's cruel dissmissal had faded with time, the sting of her words never completely disappeared. As for how things had turned out with his mother… that really didn't bear thinking about unless there was plenty of whiskey handy. He let out a bitter chuckle. She had been right after all. He _was_ a sentimental fool.

He put his other hand on top of their linked ones and toyed with one of her fingers, buying time until he could work out what to say. She didn't rush him, and he was grateful for that. Sam's other hand came to rest on his knee, a gentle reminder that she was waiting for him to say more. He let his eyes fall on her, idly wondering what she would do next. Just like she had done earlier that evening with convincing him to use the bendy straw, she waited him out. He didn't know if the fact that she had done the same thing both times mean that this would be the routine whenever they were at odds, but the idea of them having any kind of routine was oddly comforting. The fact that Sam could wait him out didn't exactly thrill him, particularly since he didn't like to lose, but if he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he didn't mind losing to _her._

An unnecessary breath, and then, "It's an old wound, Sam, an' after the bloody awful night I've had I just don't want to reopen it. Gimme a bit of time, an' then, maybe…"

She kept looking at him for a few moments, then pressed her lips together and nodded, her eyes turning soft and thoughtful. "Okay. I'll wait until you're ready." Her mouth relaxed, curving up into a teasing smile. "How about another topic you don't want to talk about?" She broke into a grin and gave his hand a fond squeeze when he shot her a wary look. "Don't worry, this one is less personal."

Spike narrowed his eyes at her, still deeply skeptical. "Ask away. Can't guarantee I'll answer."

"Well," she paused, "I just figure, Giles will probably wake up before me tomorrow, which means he'll find you down here before I get the chance to talk some sense into him, and that's a recipe for him to flip."

Spike looked at her curiously. "Suppose you're right 'bout that, but what does it have to do with askin' me summat I don't want to answer?"

Sam squeezed his knee. "I figure, the best way to keep him from going nuts when he finds you is if I leave him a note somewhere between his bedroom and the landing – "

He snorted at the childishness of her idea. "A _note_? C'mon, pet."

She rolled her eyes and lightly slapped his thigh. "I'm not done. Lemme finish, _then _you can mock my plan, okay?"

His snarky attitude crumbled at the light blow, playful though it had been. After all, he wanted her to be his, _really _his, and although he was still skeptical about the whole 'leaving a note' plan, belittling her ideas wasn't the best way to stay on her good side. He sighed. Playing nice wasn't ever going to be fun, but not having to put up with dim-wittedness or dimentia made it a good deal easier than he was used to. "Fine, pet. What's your plan?"

Her annoyance faded and she sat forward slightly, smiling gently and looking him straight in the eye. "If you tell me something about the commandos, their setup or where they kept you or something, and I write it down and put it where Giles will be sure to find it, he won't be able to squawk about you being loose. See, I figure his whole basis for keeping you restrained is a trust thing, which, to be fair to him, I can understand," she held up a finger, stalling Spike's protest. "_But_, if you give me some of the info he wants, and he sees that you didn't wreck his place during the night, it will pretty much destroy his argument for using the chains. Giles won't want to sound petulant, so if there's no solid reason to keep you locked up, he'll drop the subject."

Spike stared at her for a second as he thought it over. He saw the sense in her reasoning, but he was reluctant to give up his only bargaining chip, even to her. "Pet, that info is the only thing standin' between the me an' gettin' dusted by the Slayer's mates. I give it up, whats to stop 'em from offin' me?"

She broke into a cocky grin and held up the hand which had been resting on his knee, her index and middle fingers extended in what looked like the peace sign as she ticked off her points. "Two things; one, you won't be telling them everything you know, just enough to whet their appetite and prove that you actually have useful info."

He quirked an eyebrow. Sure, she made a good point, but he wasn't sold on the idea yet. "And two?"

Still looking at him intently, Sam leaned forward, her grin going from cocky to affectionate and determined in a matter of seconds. "If they want to dust you, they'll have to go through me." She shrugged, oozing relaxed confidence. "They won't be happy about that, but there's nothing they can do about it, either."

He faced away from her, letting his head tip back to rest on the couch cushions. Bein' protected by his girl. He wasn't crazy about the idea, Big Bad hiding behind a human… albeit a brilliant, fiesty and attractive human, but… no. He'd already been over this in the study, when she was cleaning him up. Bein' looked after and protected by his girl didn't make him less of a man. He wasn't going to be one of those tossers who _had _to be callin' the shots all the bloody time. Still, that didn't mean he was thrilled about the idea, and it was bound to take some gettin' used to. He frowned up at the ceiling, cringing slightly at the mental image of himself literally hiding behind Sam's skirts. Of course, he hadn't actually seen her wearing a skirt yet. Bet she'd look right fetching in one, though… He let out an unhappy, acquiescing grumble, consoling himself by picturing Sam in a slinky, form-fitting dress. "Okay, pet."

She put her hand back on his knee again, almost glowing as she smiled at him. "See, I knew you weren't just some cardboard villain. I keep trying to tell Giles, there's a lot more gray in the world than black and white, but he's pretty stubborn. Doesn't want to see it." He watched out of the corner of his eye as she traced her thumb over his kneecap. "Is it okay if I get some paper and a pen?"

He turned to face her again, the telly catching his eye for a moment before he replied. "Yeah, pet. If it'll stop Rupes from losin' his head again… Just hope you're right, is all."

"Oh, I'm right."

Sam leaned in, kissing him deeply and without warning. He sank himself into the kiss, marveling at how warm her touch was as she gently nipped at his lower lip. He was lost in the feel of her until she broke away for air. She got up from the couch and tossed him a cheeky grin over her shoulder as she hunted down paper and pen.

He shook his head at her, chuckling ruefully. "You're a bloody tease, you know?"

"Yup. And don't you forget it." She made a happy noise, unearthing a wire-bound notebook from a cardboard box next to the telly. As luck would have it, there was a pen clipped to the spiral wire binding, and she came right back to the couch, her search a success. She sat down and flipped to a blank page. "So, about the commando lab…" She trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

He sighed. How the mighty had fallen… now he was a bloody informant. Still, it had been his idea to play this part in order to get the Scoobies to shelter him, and it _was _better than talking about his human self. Not fun, but at least it was a far less painful topic. "Right. What d'you wanna know?"

She uncapped the pen. "Just where they kept you. What kind of place was it?"

"White walls, white floors…" he shrugged. It hadn't been like any cell or dungeon he'd ever seen before. For one thing, there was no hay on the floor… or iron chains anywhere, and it was much too bright, not oppressive or medieval like dungeons ought to be. That was why he had termed it the 'commando lab', the brightness and orderliness of it, as well as the gizmos. "Almost looked like summat from Star Trek. Sterile, I guess, for the scientist types. I woke up in a cell, walls on three sides an' some kind of clear stuff at the front 'stead of bars. I put my hand on it when I went to get a look around an' got a nasty jolt."

Sam wrote quickly, getting everything down in a messy but legible hand. She frowned, glancing up from her notes when she finished jotting down a sentence. "It zapped you?"

"Yeah. Didn't think glass did that…"

She looked puzzled and shook her head, "Maybe it was Plexiglas. One of many questions about these guys. What else can you remember about the cell?"

Spike closed his eyes briefly, picturing the place. He wasn't going to forget it any time soon, much as he wanted to, but Sam wanted details so he tried to come through for her. "It was nine-foot square, with white lights in the ceiling. They opened mine with some swipe-card, key-card thing, the kind some ATMs have to lock the doors. There were two rows cells on either side of a corridor, all with demons in 'em."

Sam was hunched over slightly, resting the notebook on one knee and quickly writing in it. "Guards patrolling?"

He leaned over slightly and saw that she had nearly filled half of a page already, writing bullet-point style. She didn't seem to notice that he was looking over her shoulder, and he let out an irritated huff. It annoyed him that he didn't have her full attention any more, but he hoped that after the questions were done, the notebook would go away and she'd be all his. "Not too often, just when they wanted to yank one of us out and play pin the tail on the demon. The cocky scientist blokes usually handled that part solo, 'less they were dealin' with a demon who was awake. Then the soldiers'd be there with their guns an' what-all."

"They didn't come by to feed you?" She didn't take her eyes off of the page.

Spike shook his head, shifting closer to her and giving her notebook an annoyed glance. "Nah, some automated system shot out packets of blood from the ceiling. I'd just come to when mine fell down, but the bloke in the next cell over told me that it was drugged. He said they waited to feed us demons till we're good an' hungry, then they send down a drugged packet, some sort 'a sedative, I guess, so they could take us for experiments."

Sam put her pen down, giving him a sympathetic look and taking his hand again. "Wankers. I'm sorry you had to go through that. It must have been awful."

He grinned at the sentiment, and even more at how strange the word sounded when it was used by an American. "Yeah. I'd already got my little prod-an-poke," he gestured vaguely at the back of his head, "while I was out from when they captured me, so I never saw the lab. Least, I don't remember seeing it." Spike shrugged. He found himself trying to shake off the oddest feeling that he actually wanted to tell her all he could about the place, and regretting that he couldn't tell her any details about the lab.

"When I was bustin' out, the lab-coats kept shouting for some serum, maybe some kinda sedative, an…"

She stopped him, resting her hand on his thigh. "Thanks, sweetie. That's more then enough for now." He watched as she tore out the page she had been writing on and folded it over. The back of it was still blank and she jotted down a quick note, muttering to herself as she wrote it.

"Giles, Spike gave me this info after I unchained him. Its just part of what he knows about the commandos. Read it before you do anything macho or impulsive."

He smiled a bit, watching her finish the note and draw an emphatic line under the words 'read it'. He hoped that this plan of hers would work. After all, the last time Rupes had found him asleep on the couch, it really hadn't gone over well.

She put the pen and notebook under the side table at the end of the couch, rooted around in the end table's drawer, fished out a tape dispenser and then got up, glancing around the room pensively. "Now I've just gotta figure out where he'll be sure to see it." Her eyes lit on a mirror which was mounted on the wall facing the main flight of stairs. "Perfect! When anyone is coming down those stairs, they can't avoid looking at the mirror."

Spike turned around in his seat, following her with his eyes as she moved across the room and taped her note to the middle of Giles' mirror. Suddenly, he had the horrible suspicion that he'd been duped, that he'd given away too much information, and that Giles wouldn't show any restraint come morning. She came back down from the landing and gave him a triumphant smile. He tried to mirror her expression, but because of his doubts he was pretty sure that it came out as more of a grimace than a grin. He wanted to trust her, and a big part of him did, but he had been around far too long to be idealistic anymore. If he was wrong about Sam and her motives, he was well and truly screwed, and he couldn't exactly tell her about his doubts, because, true or not, she would just assure him of her trustworthiness. He had feelings for her, strong ones, but accustomed as he was to following his blood, he hadn't survived for so long by putting his full trust in new friends.

Great. Now he was back to doubting her and second-guessing himself when all he really wanted to do was enjoy being with her. So where the hell did that leave them?

* * *

><p><em>AN: Photographic evidence of Giles' bedroom and its lack of wall can be found on the Buffy wiki under the entry 'Rupert Giles' Apartment'. These pictures were my guide for building a mental 'floor plan' of Giles' apartment in order to describe it more vividly. I added extra rooms, for the sake of this story, because there were rooms we never saw on screen and I took that as license to run wild with my floor plan. Which I worked on for the better part of a day, using graph paper and mapping it all out down to the square foot and determining which windows faced which compass points. OCD is a cruel mistress._

The poem Sam recites is 'Emily Dickinson' by Wendy Cope


	12. Going Bump In The Night

Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

_A/N: Anyone patient enough to have stuck with me this far deserves a cookie or some other kind of show of gratitude. I actually wrote this chapter waaay back in 2012. I hadn't written chapter three yet when I wrote this part, so until now it's been held hostage by the continuity gremlins. However, now it can roam free on the internet. Yay!_

* * *

><p><em>"Although the world is full of suffering,<em>

_It is also full of overcoming it."_

_~ Hellen Keller_

* * *

><p>12– Going Bump In The Night<p>

* * *

><p>Well, this wasn't awkward at all.<p>

"So," Sam fiddled with part of his sleeve, nervously chewing on her upper lip. "What happens when you try to bite someone? I mean, with what the soldiers did to you and everything."

Spike blinked at her in mild surprise, the mind-numbing commercial for Sham-Wow momentarily forgotten. He cocked his head slightly, narrowing his eyes at her. "You really want to know?"

She locked eyes with him briefly, then dropped her gaze to the coffee table. "Yeah. I mean, I'm curious about _how_ it could possibly stop you from feeding…" She trailed off, seeming unsure of what to say next. He didn't offer any response, and after a few moments of silence she seemed to give up on getting an explanation of how it worked, so she turned her attention back to the tv.

The show they had been watching, a rerun of some episode of _All In The Family_ had come back from commercial, and she tried to follow what Archie Bunker was saying. Something about Jewish food, and how it never looks like the raw products it was made from. Spike saw her glancing over at him every so often, probably hoping for a belated response to her question or wondering if the subject had been permanently dropped, but her attention didn't stay divided for long.

After a few minutes her entire focus was on the tv, so when Spike growled and jumped on top of her it took her completely by surprise.

"Spike, what are you-"

She caught a glimpse of his gameface as he fumbled with her bathrobe, pulling it aside so he'd have a clear shot at her neck, and then he dove in. Barely a second later he jumped off of her like a scalded cat, yowled in pain and rolled to the side, pressing his head into the upholstery.

Spike mumbled some indistinct profanity to the cushions and bit back a groan. The pain was much worse now than it had been when he'd failed to attack Willow in the dorms. Then, it had just been a searing, agonizing jolt which lanced through his head and left him with a lingering headache, but now the pain seemed to reach out and savage his whole body, sending his muscles into jerky spasms, forcing his mind to go blank, and reducing him to a pitiful, self-loathing lump. It was debilitating, blinding him temporarily and making him see small shimmering spots once his vision did return. He could barely manage to think straight through the haze of agony, but part of his mind was still cogent enough to wonder why the bursts of pain were affecting him so much more badly now than they had before.

As his mind slowly began to clear, he realized this was because, quite simply, he hadn't been feeding. When he'd been captured by the commandos, he'd been at full strength after months of good feeding, and he had broken out about a week later. From the time he got out until he threw himself on the mercy of the Scoobies, he'd been on the run and unable to feed, and that had been perhaps the longest, and hungriest, two weeks of his whole unlife. Once he started staying with Giles, the Scoobies kept him on starvation rations, just barely giving him enough blood to keep him from wasting away, and that had been another interminable two days. Even with the extra blood Sam had given him that evening, he hadn't fed nearly enough to regain his full strength. To do that, he would have to drain several people in the course of one night, and since _that _wasn't likely to happen, his strength would have to accumulate slowly.

He gradually became aware of a soft voice speaking to him and a pair of hands gently touching him. At first he couldn't tell what she was saying, but then something cool was pressed to his forehead which quickly made the pounding in his skull abate.

"Shhh. Easy, sweetheart. Try to relax. Just take it easy."

"Easier said than done, luv." He grimaced. The sound of his own voice was loud to his ears, and it was only then that he realized she must have been whispering to him.

He opened his eyes but couldn't see much of anything beyond the colorful star-bursts which had formed behind his closed eyelids. From what he could tell, the apartment seemed a bit darker than it had been a few minutes earlier. The table lamp in the living room area had been shut off, as well as the light in the kitchen, and the only light he could see was the glow from the telly and a streetlamp outside one of the windows. Despite the relative darkness, it was still much too bright for the combination of a hellish migraine and his cat-like night vision. His eyes squeezed shut again and he made a low sound of displeasure through his clenched teeth, letting out an unnecessary breath, along with a murmured "bloody hell."

"Yeah," she continued to pet him, running her fingers back through his hair and gently tracing circles on his scalp with her fingertips. He wasn't sure when she had started doing that, but it felt lovely on his sore head and he hoped she would keep doing it. "That's one doozy of a headache, mister."

Sam's voice was low and soothing, and coupled with the petting, it helped him to feel slightly less shitty.

"Yeah. Aren't I the lucky one?"

She gave a breathy laugh and followed it up with more whispering. "You have gotten a raw deal, but I have to admit that I'm a little relieved. Even with... I mean, it makes me feel safer. Don't really want to be on the menu, if you know what I mean."

He gave a wry smile, quirking one eyebrow. "At least you're honest about it." The petting gradually slowed, then stopped altogether, and he looked up at her questioningly. "Luv?"

She held up a bottle, shaking it gently so he could hear the slight rattling of its contents. "I found some percocet in Giles' medicine cabinet. It's definitely strong enough to take care of the pain, and it'll help you sleep, too."

"Oh." He blinked at her, noticing the water glass which had appeared on the coffee table at some point. Spike shifted his gaze back to her, hoping that she would start touching him again. He'd underestimated how much her petting had helped to alleviate the pain, and without it he was starting to have difficulty concentrating and keeping his eyes open. Besides, it had felt nice, being touched like that in a non-sexual context, especially since, unlike the kissing earlier, she wasn't getting anything tangible out of this. It wasn't just the physical contact, but the fact that she actually cared enough to try to help him feel better was... nice. Probably not the smartest thing for her to do, but nice all the same.

"D'you really think that'll work?"

She smiled, glancing down to the bottle she was holding. "The dentist prescribed this stuff for me when my wisdom teeth were removed. I remember getting home in the afternoon, taking the pills, and then nothing until midnight." Sam opened it and shook three round white pills into her palm, then held them out to him and looked back up with a crooked grin after closing the bottle. "That whole week is one big blur, so yeah, I think it'll help. Certainly can't hurt."

A soft *ding* sounded from the kitchen, possibly the microwave had finished heating something, but even that little sound felt like an ice-pick driving into Spike's head. He squeezed his eyes shut, realizing belatedly that for some reason no sound was coming from the telly. He opened one eye to glance over at the screen, and large green letters spelling out 'MUTE' in the upper right corner of the picture answered his curiosity. It occurred to him that not only had Sam turned off the lights for his benefit, but she had muted the telly, too. The only real sounds in the apartment were Sam's breathing and heartbeat, along with fainter versions of the same sounds coming from Giles' room upstairs. The quiet seemed to make his head hurt less, and he was surprised, but grateful, that she was making so much of an effort to help him.

"Got that right, luv. Feels like my bloody head's gonna explode." Spike carefully shifted position, trying to get more upright so he could take the pills. He ended up leaning heavily against the arm of the couch, the hard wood biting painfully into his ribs as he rested most of his weight against it.

She noticed him grimace and closed her hand around the pills, holding on to them while she grabbed an overstuffed throw pillow from the nearby easy chair with her other hand. "Here, let me..."

He levered himself up with one arm, letting her put the cushion between himself and the carved arm of the couch. When she withdrew her arm he settled back into place and relaxed. That one little pillow seemed to do the trick.

"Is that better?"

Spike nodded, letting his eyes drop shut and willing the room to stop spinning. It was bloody intolerable that such a little bit of movement could make his head throb so damn much. "When I get rid of this bleedin' chip, I'm gonna have a one-vamp G.I. Joe buffet. Kill 'em all, I will. Suck 'em dry an' use their bones to smash those bloody scientists' heads in."

"I really do get you being angry at those guys, but," he heard Sam shift uncomfortably, "can you not plan it aloud? At least, not when I'm within earshot?"

He flashed her an evil grin, which became a grimace and then his face softened as he nodded. "You got it, pet. 'S long as those pills of yours work."

She put the pills in his hand and held out the glass of water to him, smiling crookedly. "I can live with that. Besides," She watched him pop the pills into his mouth then take a swig of the water. He kept drinking until the glass was empty, and only then did he hand it back to her. "I gave you triple the normal dose. This stuff will knock you out. By the time you wake up, the pain should be long gone."

"So," he leaned back again, trying to get comfortable. He lay down at almost full stretch on the couch and adjusted the pillow beneath his head, wincing slightly when bolts of pain shot through his scalp in protest of the movement. "How long till this stuff starts to work?"

She shrugged, putting the pill bottle and empty glass next to where she was sitting on the coffee table. "Usually about half an hour. Maybe faster, with your vamp metabolism."

Spike made a disgusted sound, closing his eyes and letting his face settle into a relaxed expression. "Fat lot of good that is. An' just what am I supposed to do until then?"

The microwave 'ding'-ed again and Sam glanced over to the kitchen then back to him, a faint smile on her face as she shrugged. "I heated you up some blood. Having something to eat might help."

He gave a tiny nod of assent, one corner of his mouth jerking up into a faint smile at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. He really hadn't expected any of the Scoobies to treat him with such consideration. Of course, Sam wasn't exactly a Scooby and she didn't seem to play by their rules... at least, if the snogging was anything to go by. Part of him was still suspicious of how affectionate she was towards him and wondered if she had an ulterior motive, but the larger part of him was enjoying being looked after, and it told the first part to sod off. "Could do. The rations Giles has me on aren't near enough to feed a vamp, 'specially not one who's been starving for almost three weeks."

She briefly touched her fingers to his hair again, playing them through the stiff curls. After trying to break up some of the gelled clumps, she gently lay the forgotten ice pack back on his forehead. "Well then, I'd better bring your snack over here. Lets see if we can't fill you up."

He heard her get up, but his eyes didn't open until she gave his arm a fond pat. Spike watched with a bemused expression while she walked towards the kitchen in the dark, trying not to bump into any of Giles' furniture. He thought, not for the first time, that having poor night vision was definitely a handicap. However, this was one of the very few times that he felt anything other than amusement at the sight of a bumbling human trying to make her way in the dark.

She reached the kitchen without too much trouble and put the tumbler and pill bottle next to each other on the counter. There was almost no light in the kitchen; the soft glow from the tv didn't reach nearly that far, and the streetlight outside only illuminated the area of Giles' little work space just inside the front door. She wedged open the fridge door with her foot, using light from inside the fridge to guide her movements, and found a tray in one of the cupboards underneath the counter which looked out into the main room. She nudged the refrigerator door with her knee, stopping it from closing, and opened the microwave door. The little microwave display panel changed from saying 'DONE' to displaying the time, which happened to be 3:20 in the morning. She made a sour face at the time display, then loaded four coffee mugs full of blood onto the tray which she had found. Sam picked up the tray and then, seeming to reconsider, put it down again. She flicked on the light over Giles' sink, then reclaimed the tray and, using the sink light to guide her, headed back into the living room.

Spike watched her progress, more than a little worried that she wouldn't be able to see well enough to negotiate her way through the living room furniture without accidentally overturning any of the mugs. However, she made it all the way back without tripping over or walking into anything, and he smiled when she reclaimed her seat on the coffee table.

"So," she grinned at him. "D'you think four mugs is enough to tide you over until morning?"

He smirked back, reaching up to adjust the ice pack. "Should be enough." His stomach rumbled loudly, and Sam had to suppress a laugh. Spike aimed a playful glare at her, sitting up once more and leaning against the couch arm as he made a 'gimme' gesture with one hand. "Awright, awright, just give it here."

She handed him one of the mugs, trying to ignore the smell of the heated blood when she was passing it over.

Spike was blissfully unaware of her discomfort as he downed half of the first mug in one gulp. He grimaced at the lingering taste. "The spices help a bit, but it's still off."

She nodded. "I'll do a more thorough spice trial, maybe tomorrow or Sunday, and we can see what helps." She sighed. "Cooking with ingredients that I can't taste-test is always a pain."

Spike finished off the first mug with a shrug. "I'm free to play food tester whenever, pet. 'S not like you have a hell of a lot to work with, though. Pig ain't the tastiest, but I'll take what I can get when it comes to food."

She pursed her lips, taking the empty mug from him but hesitating before giving him the next filled one. "I didn't have to do this, y'know. Heating these up for you."

He blinked at her in confusion, thrown off by the sudden change in her attitude. "What?"

Sam shook her head, putting the full mug back on the tray. "I happen to know, for a fact, mind you, that saying 'thank you' isn't fatal to vampires."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you serious?"

She gave a helpless shrug, coupled with a mildly defensive nod. "Well, yeah. A little gratitude, or at least politeness would be nice."

Spike scowled at her, in full-on Big Bad mode. "Vampire, pet. We don't do 'nice'."

"You did earlier tonight. You were plenty nice to me during dinner, and in the study, too." She raised one eyebrow at him challengingly. "Seems to me like you've got some of the basics down already, but I'm guessing you still need a crash course in dealing with humans _without _being able to resort to violence. At least humans who aren't me."

He winced and then shut his eyes briefly while she spoke, effectively ruining the tough guy posturing he'd been aiming for. When she seemed to notice that he was still in pain, she relented slightly. The next time she spoke, her voice was low and gentle. "If you want to keep me on your side, this is what you need to do."

He gave her a smoldering glare, and then forced a smile. "Thanks for bringin' me the blood." He sounded as insincere as possible, but she didn't seem to care. Apparently, saying the words was enough. He didn't have to actually _mean _any of it. Good to know.

She handed over the second mug with a triumphant smirk. "You're welcome. And since I only insist on one 'thank you' per favor, now you're all set."

He downed the blood in one long pull, inwardly shaking his head at how demanding this girl was. He had been feeling grateful about how she was looking after him, but the way she almost demanded thanks from him had really annoyed him and made a good deal of the gratitude evaporate. He loathed being told what to do, and since he already felt like crap because of his headache, his temper was even shorter than usual. He looked up from the mug to find that she was giving him yet more unsolicited advice.

"Plus, if you behave yourself, Giles won't be able to make a strong case for keeping you chained up. I mean, if there's no real reason to restrain you, he'll probably let you have the run of the apartment."

Spike snorted and then winced, putting down the empty. "Pet, if you think you're gonna house-train ol' Spike, you've got another thing coming."

Sam moved forward a bit to hand him the third mug, sighing at the same time. "I wouldn't dream of house-training you. Trying to get you to go on the newspapers would be a nightmare…" She withdrew her hand, deadpan expression slipping away as she swapped out the empty mug for a full one. "I'm just trying to give you some options. If you want to stay chained or tied up the whole time you're here, that's your call, but if you'd rather have free rein, you'll need to follow some basic rules. I'm not gonna spend the next few weeks sneaking around unchaining you when Giles' back is turned. This has to be above board, and I'll help as much as I can, but you're really the only one who can change his mind about this."

He cocked his head, realizing something. She _wasn't_ telling him what to do. Not as such, anyway. She was giving him choices, treating him as though he was her peer and not like something vile which she had scraped off the bottom of her shoe. Spike blinked. She treated him with respect. That by itself was enough of a reason to listen to her. "What kind of rules?"

She gave a pleased smile and started ticking things off with her fingers. "Don't steal anything from Giles or cause any major-league property damage. Basic politeness would be good, but you don't need to grovel or kow-tow to anybody. Just a 'please' or 'thank you' every once in a while should be enough. Matter of fact, the gang will probably be so shocked by you being polite that it'll serve as free entertainment."

Spike smirked a tiny bit at the truth of what she was saying. "Anythin' else?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "Nope."

He gave his head a tiny shake, then drank down the blood. That sounded reasonable enough, and she hadn't said anything about not raiding the Watcher's cupboards for snacks. He was handing back the third empty mug when he noticed something printed on its side. "Oh, you've gotta be kiddin' be. Would'ja look at this?"

He held out the mug to her, but in the semi-dark she couldn't discern what was written on it. "What does it say?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Bleedin' thing says 'Kiss the Librarian'."

Sam chuckled, swapping the empty for the last full mug. "I didn't really look at them when I was picking them out. Just took the two from earlier out of the drying rack and grabbed two more from the shelf." She looked into the empty mug, giving it a tentative sniff and then screwing up her face in an expression of distaste. "I'm gonna have to wash these things out pronto."

Spike was less than halfway into his last mug, and he estimated that between the blood she and Giles had heated up for him that day and what he was polishing off now, he'd already had nearly seven pints of blood. When he was hunting, he usually drank all he could from someone, but since he almost always hunted women, he tended to get no more than seven or eight pints per victim. If there was still about half a pint left, this meal would actually be enough. In fact, a meal this size four times each day would amount to a larger daily volume of blood than he was used to, since he didn't usually feed every night. He tried to do some quick figuring, wanting to work out how long it would take him to make up for the three weeks he'd been running on nothing, also taking into account the fact that he was still healing, but the effort made his head pound. He briefly considered asking Sam to help with the maths, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. Even with how much she was helping him, he had a feeling that calculations like that would make her uncomfortable. Instead, he finished off the last of the blood and tried to focus on the last thing she had said. Something about needing to wash out the cups...

"What's the rush?"

She smirked. "The rush is that Giles will hit the roof if his Earl Grey has an O pos aftertaste." She stood up, touching his shoulder before taking the mug from him and putting it on the tray with the others. Sam headed for the kitchen, switched on the florescent under-cabinet light over the sink and squirted dish liquid into the mugs before putting them into the sink. She turned on the hot water, rinsing them out thoroughly before scrubbing at them with a sponge. Once the water overflowing their rims was clear, both of blood and soap suds, she set them on the drying rack.

She stepped into the hall, marginally closer to the living room area, and asked in a stage whisper, "Do you want anything while I'm in here?"

Spike shrugged. His belly was full… ish, and with food in him his head wasn't hurting nearly as much. He had gone back to lying down on the couch, and was waiting for the pills to start working. The only things which seemed to be missing were sex, smokes and booze. He'd run out of fags while he was on the run, and he was fairly certain that sex with Sam wasn't on the menu. At least, not just yet. She kept touching him, had kissed him vigorously in the study and told him in no uncertain terms that she liked him before falling asleep in his arms, but she had also made a point of saying that she wasn't easy and that they were going faster than she was used to. The long and short of it was, she wasn't ready yet, and much as he would have liked a good shag, he didn't want to mess things up by trying to force the issue. Even if he didn't actually want her to think well of him, he'd much rather have an enthusiastic partner than one who needed to be coerced. Besides, with the damned chip in his head and Giles just upstairs, any efforts to force her would not only be short-lived, but bloody stupid. Naturally, that left only one thing.

"Giles have any hooch around here? I know he keeps a bottle of brandy on the bookshelf…"

"The Napoleon brandy? I think he has some other stuff, too." Sam nodded, glancing over at Giles' breakfast bar. Near the side was a small tray, and on it a few bottles containing various kinds of alcohol. She walked towards them, pulled the tray closer and picked up the bottles one at a time, holding them in the light cast by the solitary bulb over the stove to get a better look at them. Two of them had dark golden-brown liquid inside, and the other was clear.

"He's got a couple bottles of dark booze here, they're probably scotch or cognac, and there's another bottle of what I'm guessing is gin, knowing him. Naturally, none of 'em have labels."

Spike sat up just enough to see what she was doing. Her pretty face was scrunched up; eyes squinting in the low light and brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle out what was in the various bottles. He smiled slightly. She looked good like that. Maybe not conventionally beautiful, considering how her features were twisted around, but the curiosity and intelligence in her expression definitely appealed to him. He covered the mushy thoughts with a sardonic quip. "No, 'cause labels would only be helpful."

Sam removed the cover from each bottle as she examined it and gave the contents a sniff. She poured a few drops from the first bottle into its cap, tasted the liquid and pulled a face. "Uhg. Yeah, that's scotch alright."

Spike chuckled at her reaction to the beverage. "Don't drink much, pet?"

She replaced the cover on that bottle, flashing him a smile. "Hey, gimme wine or vodka any day of the week. I drink other stuff, sometimes, but I mainly like fruity drinks. Daquiris, Pina Coladas, screwdrivers, that kind of thing. That's about it." Sam picked up the next bottle, squinting at the golden-brown liquid inside it. "Knowing Giles, this is probably cognac."

"Nevermind, love. The brandy'll do me just fine."

She gave a dramatic, annoyed sigh. "Good thing I looked at all the other stuff," Sam smiled at him, letting him know that the annoyance was all show, and put the bottle back on its tray with the others. "Now, don't get used to this."

Spike had lain down again, resting his head on one of the pillows and closing his eyes. "Used to what, pet?"

He heard a soft, derisive snort come from the kitchen, and footsteps trailing off of hardwood and onto linoleum. The soft scrape of wood against wood, followed by the clinking sound of glasses, let him know that she had opened one of the cabinets and was getting him a glass.

"Being waited on hand an foot."

"Oh?" He quirked up one eyebrow but didn't bother to shift position on the couch. "And why is that?"

There was the whispering scrape of the brandy being opened, and a quiet splash as it was poured. Her footsteps came towards the couch again, drifting along with a breathy laugh. She hesitated at the edge of the carpet, as though unsure of where to perch, and then reclaimed her seat on the coffee table.

"I'm only doing this because you need looking after at the moment. As soon as you're steady on your feet, you'll need to do this kind of stuff for yourself."

"Thanks, pet." His voice was heavy with sarcasm, but stung pride aside, he found himself enjoying being looked after, or at least the way that she went about it. He held out one hand for the brandy. She had put three fingers of it in a tumbler and served it neat, as though it were scotch. He leaned up on one elbow and took a swallow of the liquor.

It burned pleasantly as it went down and he closed his eyes, savoring the sensation. A truly evil thought occurred to him and he slowly opened his eyes again to smirk at her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and tipping his head towards her. "So, just how much are you willing to do for me while I'm... indisposed?"

Sam looked away, blushing very slightly and biting her lip. Part of him regretted the innuendo. What they had - or were starting to have, at least if she wasn't playing him - was special, and he didn't want to cheapen it, so he was almost glad when she didn't take his quip seriously. "Now, none of that, _William_." She recovered her composure quickly, lifting one of her feet and giving his leg a playful nudge with it. "You get one refill, and then I'm heading upstairs."

Spike smiled at her, nodding with mock solemnity, and lay back, closing his eyes for a moment. One moment became two, then three, and then Sam was sitting in a darkened room with what seemed to be a dozing vampire. The tumbler started tipping in his hand, and Sam grabbed it from him before it could spill.

"Spike," she called his name in a whisper and tapped his shoulder. No reaction. She shrugged, sighing a little. "The pills are working, I guess."

"Yeeeah," he gave a lax smirk and opened his eyes, blinking as he tried to make her come back into focus. His brow furrowed in evident confusion. "How much brandy did I have?"

She held up the glass for him to see. "Just a few swallows. Strong painkiller and booze." Sam laughed to herself, leaning towards him and patting his knee. "You're going nighty-night."

He glowered up at her, wanting to finish his drink and annoyed by the baby talk primarily because it reminded him of Harmony. "Give it here." He held out his hand for the glass. She obligingly returned it to him, her frown not really registering in his drowsy mind, and he polished off the brandy, fumbling the empty glass back into her hand with his eyes mostly closed.

She stared at him thoughtfully, then looked at the empty glass and shook her head. "How about we put a rain check on that refill? I doubt you'll be awake long enough to enjoy a second glass."

He shrugged one shoulder. The gesture was thick with apathy. "Seems like. Those pills of yours really did the trick."

Sam had been putting the glass down, and after he spoke she made a pleased sound. "No more pain?"

"All fixed up." One corner of his mouth quirked up and he chuckled to himself. "I'll have the brandy tomorrow. Ol' Rupes'll just love that."

She rolled her eyes in the darkness, apparently forgetting that he could see her perfectly well. "Yeah. Try not to bait him too much? I don't want to spend my whole vacation playing referee."

"If you like, pet. If you like," he half murmured, settling in to sleep.

Sam looked at him for a little while, and then she grabbed the wool blanket which they had cuddled under together earlier and draped it over him. He shifted a bit, his face pulling into a confused expression when he felt the blanket being hitched up to cover his chest.

Spike took a quick glance down at the blanket then and looked up at her questioningly. "Pet?"

"Just want to make sure you'll be comfy enough out here to get some sleep." She smiled at him fondly and touched his arm through the slightly fuzzy material. "Is there anything you need?"

Although the percocet and brandy combo had muddled him pretty badly, he was fairly certain that the chemicals in his system had nothing to do with how confused he was just then. He still wasn't used to being looked after, not like this, anyway, and he wasn't sure how to react to it. "I… uh… thanks. There isn't anything I… I think I'll be okay."

"Glad to hear it, sweetie, and you're welcome." Sam's smile widened as she picked up the empty tumbler and headed to the kitchen. "Sweet dreams, Spike."

He closed his eyes, drowsily hitching the blanket up to cover his shoulders. "You too, pet."

Spike fell asleep breathing in the mixture of his own and Sam's scents from the blanket she had covered him with, and listening to the sound of footsteps trailing upstairs.

TBC


	13. The Morning After

_Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there._

_Please read and review, let me know if you like the way this story is unfolding._

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><p>"<em>I have been in love with one princess or another almost all my life,<em>

_And I hope I shall go on so, till I die, being firmly persuaded, _

_That if ever I do a mean action, it must be in some interval betwixt one passion and another."_

_~ Laurence Sterne_

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><p>13 – Morning After<p>

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><p>Heavy footsteps coming down the stairs... Someone breathing, their heart rate suddenly increasing… More footsteps, coming closer and then moving away again, but not back the way they had come... Water running, the hiss and sizzle of cooking, a teakettle whistling… The smell of milk, Weetabix, eggs and tea…<p>

The sensory information gradually coalesced, registering in Spike's mind as a far-off alarm, possibly even as a reason for him to really wake up and leave the couch. Well, that wasn't gonna happen. If there was danger, it would find him sooner or later, and until it did, he was content to stay exactly where he was. No point rousing himself just yet.

Spike hitched his blanket higher over one shoulder and settled in again. He kept his eyes closed but listened for anything that might signal trouble. Much as he didn't want to be awake yet, he didn't want to be caught unawares, either.

Footsteps - male, judging by the heavy tread - moved towards him again. Had to be Giles, but what was he up to? There was a distinctly masculine 'harumph' of equally distinct displeasure from somewhere above him, followed by a grumble as the footsteps moved off. A metallic click, the creak of hinges quickly drowned out by obnoxious birdsong… A soft wooden thump followed by a different sort of click, and Spike was left to drift back to sleep without any further distractions.

Sometime later, Spike felt himself coming awake again. Warm fingers were gently carding through his hair and tracing little patterns over his scalp. It was a pleasant sensation, but he was tired and didn't want to be woken up, so he shifted his position and clumsily batted a hand at the offending digits, muttering dire and utterly unintelligible threats. He refused to open his eyes, since that would be a step towards waking up, but a few seconds of blindly moving his hand around seemed to work. At least, the warm fingers didn't try to rouse him again, so he declared himself the victor and settled deeper into the couch, smiling to himself.

His latest attempt at getting back to sleep was sabotaged by a drowsy but familiar female voice. "Spike, I'm about to make myself breakfast. If you want some doctored blood, you'll need to sit up. Or, at least, y' know… say something."

He cracked one eye open, grumbling but not bothering to move. "'M bloody knackered, Sam. Y'couldn'ta just lemme sleep?"

Spike realized that he was practically whingeing, but he didn't much care. First decent bit of sleep he'd had in a fortnight, and while it had been wonderful, such a short span of rest had only served to fully shift his body out of 'run-for-your-unlife' mode and into 'rest, eat and heal' mode. Now the tiredness was hitting him all at once, and the last thing he wanted to do was try to stay conscious. Instead, every instinct was screaming at him to curl back under the blanket, let his eyes close and rest his suddenly all-too-heavy head on the cushions. Of course, the blood he'd had the previous night had done something similar to his appetite, and as he reluctantly felt himself becoming more alert, the hunger which he'd managed to push aside while he was on the run began vying with sleep deprivation for his full attention. Exhaustion versus starvation… which one would win out?

"And good morning to you, too." She smiled and rested a hand on his shoulder. "If you want, you can go right back to sleep after you've had a few mugs."

"A'right, pet." Spike settled in again, letting his eyes close. He could stay comfy and nab a few winks while she set up the blood. He frowned to himself, suddenly feeling the same confusing mix of gratitude, affection and mistrust which he had the night before. He shook his head at his own foolishness. Doubting her wouldn't get him anywhere, and he wanted to enjoy being with her, consequences be damned. He'd keep his guard up for a while, or at least try to, but he wasn't going to throw away the chance to be with her.

She started chuckling to herself as she moved towards the kitchen. "Should'a figured you wouldn't be a morning person."

"Ha bloody ha, luv."

Her tone was conversational as she went on, "Just sayin', it makes sense. Creature of the night and all that stuff."

Instead of replying, Spike grumbled softly to himself as he listened to Sam putter around the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers.

He must have drifted back to sleep at some point, because it seemed like just a few moments later that Sam was giving his temple a soft kiss. He opened his eyes in time to see that she had just sat on the coffee table and there was a tray with four mugs of gently steaming butcher's blood next to her.

She smiled and rested a warm hand on his shoulder when he blinked up at her in confusion. "C'mon, Spike. Soup's on."

He could smell the aroma of fried eggs and toast lingering in the air, but he hadn't heard her cooking anything, and when he sat up to get a look at the kitchen he spotted dirty dishes in the sink. _Huh_. He must have been out for the count while she set up and ate her own breakfast. Hell, he hadn't even heard the microwave go off when she heated the blood for him.

"Thanks, pet." He leaned back against the couch arm, sandwiching the throwpillow between himself and the carved wooden armrest so he could at least be comfy while he had breakfast. After settling in, he shot her a wary look. "How long was I out?"

Still smiling, Sam handed him a mug and then glanced at the small clock Giles kept on his side table. "About half an hour." She looked back from the clock in time to see him grimace. Her expression turned softer and she frowned sympathetically. "You must have needed the rest."

Spike shook his head slightly before taking a mouthful of his breakfast. "Great. I'm a bleedin' invalid."

She gave a small, irritated sigh. "Spike, you're injured and underfed, plus you've been on the run for weeks. Of course you're gonna need to rest more than usual. Now, I don't know how long it takes vamps to heal, but any human with your injuries would be looking at a long hospital stay. You're a survivor, vamp constitution or not. So, lets just deal with one thing at a time." Her smile came back as she leaned forward and patted his knee. "How's your head?"

He shrugged, polishing off the mug of paprika-spiced pig's blood. "Better'n last night, I guess. 'M not seein' stars or comin' over queasy," he handed off the empty mug, swapped it for a full one and sat back again, gently touching his free hand to the bandage on his temple "but…" He trailed off with a wince.

Sam made a sympathetic sound and finished the thought for him. "Still a long way from feeling like yourself."

He nodded without making eye contact and kept drinking his breakfast, noting that Sam had warmed the plasma to above human body temperature so it would be more potable. The spices helped a bit, since they masked some of the bitterness, but they couldn't turn pig's blood into human. Still, Sam was going out of her way to help, and being an ungrateful git would be a quick way to drive her away, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

Before either of them could say anything else, the front door opened. Spike recognized Giles' footfall right away and turned to watch as his reluctant host walked in. The morning paper was tucked under Giles' arm, its pages well thumbed, and he was carrying a small assortment of dirty dishes. The man must have eaten his breakfast outside and killed as much time as he could by reading the news. At least the tosser hadn't staked him on sight when he came downstairs.

"Morning, Giles."

Sam's voice was oddly cold, and Spike turned to look at her. Her face was set in a neutral mask, but there was a hard glint in her eye. Spike remembered how angry she had been at Giles the previous night when she found him trussed up and bloody in the watcher's study, and he smirked to himself. Giles seemed surprised by the greeting and her confrontational body language as she stood up. Looked like watcher boy had no idea what he was in for. Spike smiled at the rim of his coffee mug. This should be fun.

Sam crossed her arms, staring daggers at the tall Englishman as she planted herself between Giles and the hallway which the kitchen branched off of. "So, anything you want to tell me about what happened after I went to bed last last?"

Giles tensed slightly, but he didn't try to get past her. Instead, he stepped to the breakfast bar and put his dishes down there. "Perhaps I should be asking you the same thing." His voice was level, controlled, but judging by the bulging vein in his temple and twitching muscle in his jaw, he was far from calm. "Last night you agreed that I have the right to feel safe in my own home, and then as I slept you unchained a known killer and left him free to —"

Sam cut him off, her eyes going wide as she gestured at the living room area. "He hasn't moved from the couch since the last time I saw him. It's one thing to be cautious, but beating him senseless and chaining him up when he can't defend himself isn't — "

"Is that what you think happened?" Giles looked and sounded genuinely surprised.

Sam glared up at him, all fire and righteous indignation. "What am I supposed to think? Last night I went to bed, thinking that you were seeing things my way, and a few hours later I find him chained up and bloody. The math wasn't hard."

Giles aimed a poisonous frown at Spike and then continued speaking to Sam as though they were the only two in the room. "I've no idea what he told you, but I _didn't_ strike him. I merely encouraged him —"

"You mean 'encouraged' me with a crossbow?" Spike interrupted. Letting Sam give Giles what-for was alright, but that didn't mean he was just gonna sit back and let the watcher pretend like he wasn't right there. "I dunno what happened after you got me into the study, Watcher, but I've got a hunch, an' I'll wager our girl here won't buy that you did nothin' wrong."

Sam flashed Spike a warm look before focusing on her prey again. "He's right. Besides, don't you think the fact that I've spent several hours alone with him and I'm still breathing kind of speaks for itself? Plus, there's all the stuff he told me about the commandos…"

Giles seemed to falter at that, dropping his gaze to the table. "I _was_ pleasantly surprised to find that you had gleaned information about the soldiers' base during the night, but to let him have free rein while we sleep —"

Sam rolled her eyes at him. "Giles, I know for a fact that Spike can't bite anymore, and you clearly read the note I left, so you know that he's holding up his end of the deal. Since he's cooperating and he can't hurt us, there's no reason to treat him like a prisoner." A confident smile spread across her face and she uncrossed her arms, moving towards Giles with her hands on her hips. "In fact, if you don't start cutting him some slack, I've got a feeling that he won't remember anything else about the commandos. So, what's it gonna be?"

'_Spike can't bite anymore… he can't hurt us…_'

Spike held his tongue as the words gnawed at him. He wanted nothing better than to protest, to argue that he was still a force to be reckoned with, but instead he sat back against the cushions and drank the spiced blood. He knew that Sam was only bringing up his harmlessness so she could convince Giles to stop being so reactionary, but that didn't stop the topic from stinging.

After a few tense moments, he heard Giles give a defeated-sounding sigh. "Are you _certain_ that he can't harm us?"

Sam glared up at Giles, looking as though her patience was about to run out, and gritted her teeth, all but hissing out, "_Yes_."

Spike balled his free hand into a fist, gritting his teeth with the effort of not saying anything to salvage his 'Big Bad' reputation. This was just too humiliating, but he didn't see a way around it. Sam was looking out for him, and he wasn't going to sabotage that, but the effort of not making any snarky comments was really putting his patience to the test.

Giles quietly 'harumphed'. "Then I concede. So long as you take responsibility for him and he doesn't take any aggressive action, I won't attempt to restrain him again."

Her face softened, and she seemed mollified by Giles' promise. "Okay. I'll hold you to that." She stepped aside, allowing Giles a clear path to the kitchen, and then moved back to the couch again, frowning when she noticed Spike's tight fist. "I miss something?"

Spike forced himself to relax his hand and shrugged. "Just, I bloody hate bein' 'harmless' is all."

She put a concilliatory hand on his leg and he went back to sipping his blood. "You aren't harmless…" She trailed off, seeming at a loss for predictable but encouraging things to say.

After he finished the mug, he looked at her. "'M sorry, pet. I know you're just tryin' ta help me, but havin' it all spelled out like that doesn't exactly do wonders for a bloke's ego."

She nodded slowly, absently running her fingers over the a small area of his torn jeans. "Yeah."

There was an uncomfortable pause while he reached for the next full mug. Before he sat back again, Spike looked over at the kitchen and caught sight of Giles frowning. The man quickly turned to face the sink and started doing dishes, and Spike got the distinct impression that the man had been watching them disapprovingly.

When Spike sat back again, Sam was staring at the kitchen. So she and Giles had been glaring at each other until the Watcher had turned away. Interesting.

"You know, I was thinking." She smiled, and he sipped his blood, half listening. "Giles isn't thrilled with us being chummy, and Xander wants me to meet Anya, so they'll be coming over in the afternoon."

Spike really hoped that she had a point. "What about it, pet?"

"With all that going on, you won't really be able to sleep out here."

He downed another mouthful and looked at her, wondering what she was getting at. "S'pose not. But why do I have a feeling that you're about to suggest I kip somewhere else?"

She shrugged and sat a little closer. "Maybe 'cuz you're not just a pretty face. I'm not using my room during the day, so you can sleep up there if you want."

The mug was empty now, and he had started to lower it, but instead of putting it back on the coffee table, he let it rest in his lap and looked at her curiously. Her offer surprised him. Sure, they liked each other and all, but even after how she had looked after him the night before, he hadn't expected her to offer _that_.

"And you'd let me into your bed? Just like that?" He shook his head. "What happened to you not bein' easy?"

Sam gently bit at her lower lip, then smiled a little, the lip sliding out from between her teeth as her eyes glinted mischievously. "Never said _I'd_ be in the bed with you. I just want there to be peace, and I figure the best way to make that happen is to keep you and Xander out of each other's way. He has a serious hate on for vamps."

He arched a challenging eyebrow. "An' you don't?"

She shook her head, gesturing at the empty mug. "You done with that?" He nodded, and she handed over the last full mug. "I don't like things that are trying to kill me, and most of the time vamps are in that category, but unless you were trying to kiss me to death last night, I figure you're an exception to that rule."

Spike chuckled. "A'right, pet. You found me out. I plan on snoggin' you senseless."

"Glad to hear it. If you don't mind, though, there's something I'd like to ask you."

"Name it, pet."

She smiled but fidgeted slightly. "You've been sleeping rough the last few weeks, and I'm guessing you haven't had a chance to change your clothes or wash up."

"Good guess. Hasn't really been a priority." He polished off his breakfast and handed her the mug, giving her a searching look. "So what did you want to ask me?"

Her nervousness seemed to kick up a few notches. "Would you mind taking a bath before getting into my bed? And maybe changing into clean clothes?"

He let his head fall back and gave an annoyed groan. "Pet…" Dammit all to hell. If she tried to make him wear something that belonged to Xander bloody Harris, he might just have to stake himself.

She rushed to continue, "It isn't a condition of you using my bed, I'd just really appreciate it." She moved her hand to rest just above his knee. He realized that her hand had been on his leg pretty much the whole time they'd been talking, a gentle, warm pressure which he'd stopped noticing at some point

"So, are you okay with that?" She twirled her finger so that one of the loose strings of his jeans wrapped around the digit, gently tugging at the arrow hole. "I mean, you might even enjoy a nice hot bath."

Spike fought a smile. A hot bath might very well be nice, and it might even help his leg feel a bit better, but she _was_ trying to manipulate him. It wasn't too obvious, but he'd seen – and done – far better jobs of steering people towards doing what he wanted them to do. Unlike the night before, when she had played Giles like an expert musican, now her efforts were sweet, slightly clumsy, and damned adorable.

He gave her a knowing look. Two could play this game. "You sure this isn't just a ploy to see me naked, pet, cuz I'm more'n happy to oblige if that's the case."

She blushed, looking down at the floor. "Well, no. I'm… not ready for the Spike full-monty just yet, thankyouverymuch." She met his eyes and gave a helpless sort of shrug. "I just don't want dirt and crap getting on the sheets I'll be sleeping on, or to have to change the sheets."

Dammit all to hell, he was goin' soft. Actually, that wasn't true. It was the same old tune, just with a different lyric. He just couldn't say 'no' to his girl. "Fair enough, pet. Been a while since I've kipped in a proper bed, an' I s'pose a bath couldn't hurt. Might be nice to wash that lab off for good an' all."

A smile broke out on her face, and he couldn't help smiling back. Seein' her happy made him happy, too. Hell, but he'd fallen for her quick.

"Want me to set up the bath?"

He sighed, gesturing half-heartedly towards the bathroom. "Fine, pet, but I wanna see these clean clothes you've got in mind for me first. I'm not wearin' _anything_ that belongs to Harris."

She nodded, gathering up the dirty mugs from his breakfast. "Okay. Just gimme a minute." She put the mugs into the kitchen sink and ran some warm water into them before leaving the kitchen again, all but ignoring Giles' indignant sputtering as she stepped back into the hallway. "I'll rinse 'em, just not yet. Don't freak out on me over a few mugs."

Her footsteps moved past the bathroom and towards the study. Spike heard a door open, and then Sam was muttering "now where did he put-" until she interrupted herself with a quiet 'aha!' The door closed again and then Sam returned, holding two pair of sleep pants which she handed over with a smile and a shake of her head. "Giles said these 'shrunk in the wash'." She snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure it was the washing machine and not the fact that Giles has been sitting on his butt all summer. I've also got a big t-shirt upstairs which should fit you. Its gray. Don't remember where I got it, so you're welcome to keep it if you want."

The pants were white with pale blue stripes, not the sort of thing he would have picked to wear. Beggars couldn't be choosers, but even so… "Pet these…" He blinked at them, shaking his head slightly. "I'm gonna look like a bleedin' ponce wearin' em."

She rolled her eyes. "Somehow I doubt that. Besides, its not like you're gonna be walking down main street in pjs. They're just for sleeping in." She narrowed her eyes at him appraisingly, hands on her hips and a sly smile tugging at her mouth. "Now, should I run the bath, or do you wanna complain some more first?"

"Fine," he muttered. If he'd had a white flag, he would have waved it. "Run the bath."

Sam grinned, clearly pleased with herself, and kissed his forehead. "Thank you, sweetie."

He shook his head as she stepped away and watched her give Giles a 'wait-a-moment' gesture in regards to the breakfast dishes. He chuckled, shaking his head again. She had them both twisted round her little finger, no mistake about that, but Giles didn't get near as many perks for his cooperation. Spike heard water start running in the bathroom and reluctantly pushed back the covers he had slept under, removing himself from his cozy nest. Comfy as he was on the couch, he hadn't just agreed to wash to make her happy, after all. A hot bath _did _sound promising.

Sam came back into the hall and made a bee-line for the kitchen sink, smiling tightly at Giles as she edged past him. "I know, I know. Dishes. I'm on it."

The man made a soft grumpy sound and turned to watch as she grabbed a soapy sponge and started cleaning the breakfast plates, mugs and utensils. "I gather you're not doing this by half-measures."

"Hmm?" She didn't look up from the sink.

Giles nodded toward the living room. "Giving him clothes, making him breakfast. What's next?"

"Well," she sounded utterly bored. "I thought I'd do his nails and then bring someone back here for him to eat. Maybe stop by a daycare. I wonder if he likes kids." She stared at Giles with the straightest face Spike had ever seen, even though he only had a profile view of her. "You'd be okay with that, right? Me bringing take-out home instead of cooking. I know it's lazier than cooking myself, but sometimes when you're first seeing someone you go a little overboard."

Giles spluttered, his face turning a strange blotchy crimson. "I… you… this is…"

She shook with laughter, and Spike wondered how one person could be so fiesty, wicked and considerate all at once. "Man, you are just too easy!" She pulled the shocked watcher into a hug and patted him on the back. "Is that what you really think is gonna happen? Giles, when are you gonna start trusting me?"

He hugged her back for a moment, then put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away until they were face to face again. "I trust you, Sam, its just… Spike…"

"I know. You don't like him." Sam nodded patiently, giving the man a fond smile. "You've made that abundantly clear, and I respect that. However, I _do _like him, and I think he's worth the risk, so I'm not gonna let you or anyone else stop me from treating him with respect and kindness. If it makes you happy, I'll pay for the butcher's blood… even though he made the food-and-shelter-for-info deal with you."

Giles shifted in place, then took off his glasses and started polishing them. "That won't be necessary. A bargain was struck, and I'll abide by it." Once he seemed satisfied that they were clean, he put them on again and peered down at her, all fatherly worry. "What if you're wrong about him?"

She shrugged, turning to glance at Spike and smirking when she saw that he was listening in. "I'll take that chance."

**TBC**


	14. Squeaky Clean

_Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there._

_A/N: There are references in this chapter to events in the Buffyverse comic book 'Haunted' by Jane Espenson, specifically issue #4, panels on pages 6 and 12-14. The events of that comic take place during the summer before season 4, and 'Haunted' is the first appearance of The Initiative in the comics. It isn't a spoiler, but I did take it as license to show what nasty things those commandos do to some of their HST prisoners as part of 'Standard Procedure'. Instead of apologizing for the lengthy delay between updates, I'm just gonna write like a madwoman and hope to make it up to you lovely, patient people._

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><p><em>"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary;<em>

_Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness."_

_~ Joseph Conrad_

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><p>14 – Squeaky Clean<p>

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><p>Spike propped one foot on Giles' coffee table, smiling to himself as his fingers worked at undoing the laces of his boots.<p>

Sam thought that he was worth taking a chance on. His girl was going to bat for him, she _believed_ in him, and that felt wonderful. A simpleton's faith meant next to nothing, but coming from a clever girl like her, it meant the world to him.

She turned away from the sink and called out to him, "Spike? The bath might be ready now. You should probably head in there."

"Okay, pet." He slipped first one boot off, then the other, raising his voice enough so she could hear him from the kitchen. "I'll be right in."

Giles grumbled mostly to himself, "And you've drawn him a bath. Suppose I shouldn't be surprised, seeing as you clearly fetched him breakfast…"

Sam made a strangled, frustrated noise, letting her head fall back and gesturing at the ceiling with a soapy hand. "That's enough. The complaint department is on the roof. Please file your grievance in triplicate."

Spike chuckled and got to his feet, walking out of the living room and past a thoroughly peeved watcher on his way to his host's bathroom. Giles glared at him, and Spike replied by cheerfully throwing the man a mock salute as he passed. He stepped inside the bathroom and closed the door behind himself, pleased to find that Sam had set out two dark green fluffy towels for him to use, a large one and a smallish one, as well as a washcloth and the 'donated' pants which Giles had outgrown. The tub was just shy of three-quarters full, and steam was rising from the bathwater. He shucked his jeans, shrugged out of his red over shirt and tugged his black t-shirt off, leaving his dirty clothes in a pile by the toilet before he went back to the door. There was a small steel hook-and-eye latch screwed into the doorframe, and he slid the hook into place to discourage the watcher from coming in unannounced.

He stepped to the tub and let his hand trail in the water. It was hot, but not uncomfortably so, and he shut off the tap before swinging his leg over the side.

Unlike the last time he had been in this room, he wasn't chained, he wasn't terribly hungry, and he was actually looking forward to being in the tub. This time, he had been given the dual dignities of choice and privacy. It felt good, being treated as an equal as Sam did, but Giles' fear and mistrust of him were also a form of respect for a dangerous adversary, and he'd take what he could get in that department. Of course, the man's protestations were starting to wear on his nerves, and Sam having to advocate for him did more to harm his ego than the watcher's caution did to bolster it.

Spike grabbed the washcloth and squeezed a bit of body wash onto it, working the opaque liquid into a lather before he started soaping himself. He assumed that the wash was Sam's, since the bottle hadn't been in the bathroom before she arrived. It didn't have an overly feminine scent, just rosemary and lavender, which he was thankful for. It seemed right somehow to use her products instead of Giles', even though his fussy host was likely to use something which smelled a bit more masculine.

Once he'd washed himself as best he could, he sat back in the tub and closed his eyes, letting the hot water lap at his shoulders and carry the soapsuds away. He sighed, letting the washcloth flop haphazardly onto the soap dish and listening as excess water from it started to drip, drip, drip back into the tub. The steaming bath was relaxing, alright, but he could feel himself starting to doze off. Falling asleep in the bath and drowning wasn't a concern for him, but before too long the water would grow cold, and he didn't want to keep Sam waiting while he slept. He let himself slide under the water enough to wet his hair and then sat up again, blinking his eyes open as he spotted a bottle of shampoo. His troublesome leg, which had been behaving itself so far, lodged its first complaint of the day as he bent forward to grab the bottle.

He scowled, gingerly rubbing at the sore muscles as he flexed and relaxed his leg. There was a dark purple hole surrounded by faded bruising where the Chumash arrow had hit his thigh. The wounds on his chest and shoulder looked similar, but they didn't hurt much. When he gently cleaned each arrow-wound in turn, he was pleased to see that hardly any blood leaked out of them, and although they were a bit sore, it seemed as though they were healing well enough. Also, since he hadn't been using those muscles very much, they were easier to ignore. As for the leg, though… it wasn't getting better. A thin stream of red oozed out of the hole whenever he moved his leg, and his blood was starting to tinge the bathwater a faint pink. The only reason the leg hadn't hurt until just now was that he hadn't used it much since he woke up. The extra blood Sam had been giving him had helped somewhat, but as long as the arrowhead was still in there and tearing at his muscles whenever he moved, he wouldn't be fully mobile. Not near as crippled as he'd been after Buffy broke his back and landed him in that bloody wheelchair, but he didn't relish the thought of being unable to move quickly or stand on his own two feet for very long.

"Bloody hell…" Spike cursed his luck. Seemed there was nothing for it but to ask Sam to do that healing spell she'd mentioned the night before. That, or ask Giles to perform surgery on him, which was not even an option. Not in this unlife, at least.

He let himself slide along the bottom of the tub until he was closer to the shampoo, then he grabbed the bottle, flipped the top open and squeezed a blob into his palm. He was just about to spread the blob through his hair when his fingers ran across the bandage that Sam had taped over his temple the night before. "Right… of course." He wiped the blob of shampoo onto his head and started working to get the bandage off. Not being able to see where the edges of the medical tape were made it a frustrating task, but after a minute or so he'd peeled off the tape and gauze and let them drop to the tiled floor. That done, he sudsed up his hair and went back to thinking about the healing spell. Sam had offered to help, so he tried to tell himself that it wasn't a big thing, but he couldn't help hoping that the spell would work exactly the way it was supposed to. He didn't have a problem with magic as such, but he'd met more than a few unreliable practitioners in his long unlife, and he'd seen firsthand how wrong spells could go. Most of the time that just meant free entertainment, either in the form of enchanted costumes, animal transformations gone awry, or that time Darla had spent a week thinking she was Napoleon, but now he was actually considering offering himself up as a guinea pig, and he wasn't sure if it was a good idea. Really, it all came down to how much he trusted Sam.

Spike turned the faucet on, cupping his hands underneath the stream until they filled with clean water and then sluicing it over his head to rinse out the shampoo. The bath water had cooled enough that soaking in it wasn't relaxing anymore, so he shut the tap off again and pulled the rubber stopper out, allowing the tub to drain. He stood and carefully stepped from the tub, not bothering to hide a grimace when his leg twinged again. "Bloody Indian spirits," he grumbled, starting to pat himself dry with the larger towel.

"Where do bleedin' spirits even _get_ arrows anyway, an' why was I the one they had to use as a pincushion? I was on another _continent_… hell, I hadn't even been _born_ when all that rot happened! Shoot one of the damned yanks full of arrows, fair enough, but leave me well out of it."

He slung the large towel around his waist, tucking in one end to secure it, and rubbed the smaller towel over his hair for a minute or two before letting it drape around his neck. Spike moved to the door, still muttering as he unhooked the latch and stepped into the hallway.

Sam was sitting on the couch, reading a notebook which was filled with what looked like her own handwriting and a small bundle of gray cloth sat on the cushions next to her. There was a pencil tucked behind her ear and a small slip of note paper resting on the open notebook. The floorboards creaked slightly under Spike's feet when he stepped towards her, and she turned to him with a smile. "Hey, enjoy your bath?"

"Yeah, pet, I did." He nodded, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. "So… that spell you mentioned last night, the one for injuries and the like… Think you could use it before I head upstairs to kip?"

Her expression had changed while he stumbled out his question, and now she was staring at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

When she didn't answer him, or react to it at all for half a minute, he frowned, waving a hand in front of her. "Sam? Pet, you alright?"

She shook herself out of her daze and nodded a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm… I'm good." She was staring at him, not his face, but his chest. It seemed like she couldn't look away, and… wait, did she just lick her lips? "I'm really good, and you…you're…" She gestured at his torso, puffing out a breath but not finishing her thought, and he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"What's this about? I miss a spot or summat?"

Sam stood up and smiled goofily. "No, you really… okay, vampire, so no reflection, but, wow… Just so you know, those are some very nice muscles."

There was no doubt about it, she was ogling him. He fought back a grin, his confusion and worry replaced by sheer glee. The mere sight of him shirtless had turned her into a babbling fool, and it was as amusing as it was adorable. He let his tongue curl behind his teeth before he all but purred, "Like what you see, do you?

Sam reached behind herself, turning around briefly then facing him again and fumbling the gray t-shirt into his hands. She tugged at his arm, urging him back towards the bathroom. "Okay, so, you need to put that on so I'll stop being all stupid and stammery. Pants too. C'mon, mister."

Spike chuckled, going with her and accepting the shirt with a nod but not putting it on just yet. After all, he was having far too much fun to stop so soon. "If you insist, but if this is what happens when I'm shirtless, I can't wait to see how you react to the whole package."

She blushed and bit her lip, lightly swatting his arm in reproach. "Shut up. No one likes a handsome guy who _knows_ just how handsome he is."

He preened slightly, putting an arm around her shoulders as they walked. "You think I'm handsome, eh?"

Sam crossed her arms, sounding annoyed. "_Yes_, already. I thought the drooling and the staring made that clear."

"Well, pet, I think you'll have an easy enough time controlling yourself, especially with the castoffs you gave me. I'll look like a bloody ponce in those striped trousers."

She rolled her eyes, seeming more like herself again. "Oh come on. It would take much more than striped pants to make you look like a ponce."

"Such as?"

Sam paused in front of the bathroom door. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then her eyes lit up and she affected a serious tone, turning to face him. "I'm thinking pastel silk brocade, ala eighteenth century Versailles."

He felt his eyes go wide, and, apparently encouraged by this, she gave him an evil smile and elaborated on the horror which she had dreamt up. "It would have to be a jacket and waist-coat combo in pale pink and turquoise. With white breeches, and a ruffled silk shirt, but I don't think you'd need a wig, with your hair already being white."

Spike shuddered at the picture she had painted, then pulled himself together and snorted. "I'd stake m'self sooner than wear that poncy trash."

"Then I'll be sure to keep those kinds of clothes away from you." He quirked an eyebrow and she went on. "The last thing I want is for you to become dust-buster food."

She moved closer, glancing at his chest again, but this time she didn't seem flustered. Sam frowned as her eyes drifted across his chest, and then her eyes slowly went wide as they traveled towards his waist. "Please tell me that isn't what I think it is."

He tipped his head, wondering why she was suddenly looking horrified. "Depends, luv. What do you think it is?"

"Well," Sam tentatively reached out one hand and traced her fingertips along the edges of a pinkish vertical gash which started just above his navel and continued upwards until it split into two prongs a handbreadth below his throat. The scarred skin was shiny and slightly raised, but its color was faint enough that it wouldn't be easily seen from more than a couple feet away. "It's a partially-healed incision. Looks surgical, and…" she closed her eyes, visibly upset, and for a moment he thought that she might start crying. Instead, she continued in a shaky voice, blinking frequently and trying to act composed, "this shape of incision is really only used in autopsies, but… I mean _technically _you are dead, but you're also kind of alive, in that you're aware and cogent, so doing an autopsy on you doesn't make sense."

She looked up at him, her eyes big and young, hoping that he would tell her she was wrong. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper when she spoke again. "You said something about experiments in the commando lab…"

He nodded tightly, shifting some weight off of his left leg. In truth, he didn't remember all that much, but he'd tell her as much as he could. "Can we take this in the study, pet? I really wouldn't mind sitting in that chair again."

She smiled and gave a quick nod of assent. "Sure. I'm just gonna grab those pants from the bathroom. See you in there?"

Spike headed into the study and sat down in the chair, relaxing into the overstuffed leather cushions. Sam joined him a moment later, sitting down on the window seat and nodding at the balled up t-shirt still in his hand. "How about you put that on?"

He looked down at the shirt, puzzled. "Alright, pet, but why?"

Sam sighed, rubbing at her temples, "I just… talking about how you got that scar is one thing, but I don't know if I can actually listen to the 'how' while looking at the damn thing. It… I just don't wanna _see_…"

"S'alright, Sam."

He understood. She didn't want to picture what had happened to him. That was sweet and all, but it might be unavoidable. He pulled the shirt on anyway and smiled at her. "Right… so. Here's what happened. When I first woke up, I had no idea where I was, but week or two ago the memories started comin' back. I'd been hit with some kinda tazer, I guess, and I was pretty dazed when they dragged me off an' trussed me up. I heard blokes talking, but I couldn't see much, and then they were strappin' me down. I'd had a cloth bag on my head, and once I was strapped in they took it off. I couldn't see anything other than the ceiling, a bright lamp and the blokes standin' over me. One of em was sayin' they didn't need to slice me up, since they already knew what vamps looked like inside, but another one said that they had to check for 'variation' or summat."

His gaze had wandered away from her while he spoke. Just as well, most like. He knew she'd be upset, and he didn't want to look her in the eye until he'd told his sorry tale. There was a good chance that if he looked at her before that, he might not be able to finish telling it.

He cleared his throat, staring at the floor. "I'll skip the details. They had a scalpel and a motorized saw, and when they couldn't hear each other over my screaming they shot me up with summat that made it all daffodils and teddy bears. It's all a bit fuzzy after that, but I remember bits of them sewing me back up, and fillin' me back up with blood. That musta been when they put in the chip. Next time I woke up, I was in a cell, I didn't remember any of it, an' I had no idea why my chest an' guts hurt so damned much. Didn't think to take my shirt off an' have a look, so it wasn't till after I'd busted out that I had any idea what happened." Spike shook his head, almost laughing. "Woke up one night from what I thought was just a bloody strange nightmare… till I saw the scar, an' then it all clicked. Almost wish it hadn't."

He looked over to her, wondering how she was handling it. She was silent and still, facing away from where he sat. If not for her breathing and heartbeat, she might have been a statue. Spike started to worry. "Sam?"

She turned at the sound of her name and blinked at him. Her cheeks were wet. It took a moment for Spike to understand what was going on, but once he did, he loved her... because she was crying for him.

Spike got up and moved to sit next to her on the window seat, glad that someone had remembered to close the drapes. He put an arm around her and kissed her hair, gently shushing her. "Here now, sweetheart. None of that."

Sam pulled him into a sudden hug before he could react, resting her head against his shoulder and running one hand over his back. "I… can't even imagine how horrible that must have been." She held him close and he gladly returned the embrace, soaking up her warmth. "I'm so sorry that happened to you."

He shrugged one shoulder uneasily, feeling oddly self-conscious. "S' not so bad, luv. I ran with Angelus for near on two decades, an' you know how much that git loves ta' torture blokes. I've had worse."

She let out a bitter huff and squeezed her arms tighter around him, muttering sullenly, "that really doesn't help, y'know. I'm trying _not_ to picture you being hurt, remember?"

He smiled against her hair, touched and pleased and surprised that she cared so much. The bird was almost too good to be true. "Like you said, luv, I'm a survivor. Gonna take more'n a buncha army ginks ta keep me down for long."

"Glad to hear it."

"Speaking of," he cleared his throat, gingerly flexing his leg. "D'you think you could do that spell on my leg? It, uhh, I think it might be a real help. Damned thing won't stop hurtin'." He chuckled and tried to sound casual about it, forcing a joking tone into his voice for the last part, but it didn't even sound convincing to him.

She turned to kiss his cheek and pulled out of the hug, smiling as she wiped at her eyes. "Thought you'd never ask. Just in case, though, I found my notes on that spell." She gestured out towards the living room, looking pleased. "I was looking them over, just to brush up on the details if you changed your mind." She sat back, looking pensive. "Probably best if we wait a little while. I'm pretty upset, so casting right now is _not_ a good idea, but I can get everything set up."

"Right, pet. I'll finish dryin' off an' get my kit on while you're doin' that."

"Good idea." She stood, nodding, and then grabbed the stripy pants, which she lobbed at his head with a grin.

He caught them just before they would have hit him full in the face, and scowled at them briefly. "Beggars can't be choosers, right?"

"Pretty much. See you in a couple minutes." She closed the door behind herself and he heard her footsteps moved toward Giles' living room. Papers rustled, that would be her notebook, and then it sounded like she joined Giles in the kitchen.

Sam made a disgusted sound. "These soldiers are bad news, Giles."

Spike absently patted himself dry with the smaller towel, listening in. Nice thing about vamp hearing, it pretty much made him a superior eavesdropper. Of course, it didn't hurt that Giles' kitchen shared a wall with the study.

The ex-Watcher replied, "I agree that we don't know enough about them, but I feel it's premature to regard them as a threat until we know what they are trying to achieve."

It sounded like she slammed something onto the counter, and when she spoke, Spike could tell that she was furious.

"Who gives a rat's ass what they're trying to do? Look, he told me what happened, and before you ask, I already had a hunch based on this ugly Y-shaped incision on his chest. He just filled in the blanks, and right now I'm really wishing he hadn't, cuz I really don't know if I'm gonna be sick on the floor or just start throwing punches." She took a few steadying breaths, and the next time she spoke her voice was low, angry, and each word sounded like a hammer striking granite.

"Giles, they strapped him down and cut him up. They _vivisected_ him without painkillers or sedation." She paused, and when she went on she seemed much calmer. "Now, I know he isn't one of your favorite… individuals, but do you really expect me to believe that you're okay with that?"

Giles gave a long suffering sigh. "Spike isn't exactly an innocent victim, Sam. He's been killing for decades –"

"Yes, I _know_: vamps eat people. Thank you Giles, but I actually have read 'Demons for Dummies'. You know what these guys are doing isn't what you and the gang do. It's one thing to kill demons in a fair, or even an unfair fight, but to capture them and do experiments… it's wrong, and you know it. Demons are sentient creatures, and treating them like lab rats for shits and giggles is _wrong_. You _know_ it is, and I really doubt they had his Watcher's Council bio handy, so it's not like they had any idea who he was. They tagged him as 'Hostile 17', which tells me that as far as they're concerned, he could just be Joe Vamp, some schmucky fledge who's never had the chance to hurt anyone."

Giles sputtered, "I suppose you have a point, but-"

Sam cut him off, speaking quickly. There was a touch of frustration in her voice, along with something which had replaced the anger and righteous indignation from earlier; fear. "Besides, do you think vamps are the only demons on their wish list? You said Buffy tangled with them twice, and they regarded her as an enemy. Think they'd hesitate to 'study' her? How about the fact that they tried to capture Willow 'cause they're too ignorant to realize that a 'civilian' who is energetically moving around minutes after being attacked by a vamp hasn't had the time to be turned? How about witches, if they find out we're real? Think they'd want to 'study' me or Willow? Maybe I'm just being an alarmist, but are you willing to take that chance? Cause I'm really not."

"Fine, fine." Despite the early hour and having had a full-night's sleep, Giles sounded tired as he agreed to hear her out. "Yes, we should assume that they may pose a threat to us, just as a precaution. What do you suggest we do?"

When she replied, Sam's voice was determined and almost cheerful. The bird was clearly happy to have gotten her way. "Same as always: gather as much info as we can, come up with a plan of attack and follow it through. Repeat as needed." It was safe to assume that she was giving Giles a cheeky smile.

The watcher scoffed quietly. "You really believe it will be that simple?"

She laughed sharply. "Of course not. This is Sunnydale, where clusters go to relax and be themselves, but we've got brains, magic, a slayer, enough weapons to equip a small army, and someone who's been inside their base on our side. That's a damn good start."

Spike realized that he was grinning like an idiot. An idiot without pants on. He'd gotten so wrapped up in listening to what was happening in the kitchen and being proud of his girl that he hadn't bothered to take off his fluffy sarong yet. He quickly finished drying himself off and went to tug the pants on, but then stopped. One of his hands had a smudge of red on it, and a quick look at his leg confirmed that the arrow wound was still leaking blood. He scowled at the wound.

Sam knocked softly and then came into the room. "Spike, you ready?"

He looked up in time to see a confused expression settle on her face.

"What happened to the pants?" She had a piece of paper in one hand and a small bowl in the other.

"Uh, slight problem with that, pet." He held up his smudged hand and then nodded to his leg. "It should stop soon enough, but if Watcher wants these pants back…" Hell, no two ways about it; he sounded like a nancy-boy.

She nodded. "Gotcha. I'll get the bandages. Are the, uh, ones on your chest…?"

"Think those are okay. Might need a new one for," he gestured towards his temple, grimacing. He was gonna look like a damn patch-work quilt.

Another nod. "I should probably bandage your chest, just in case. You're sleeping in my bed, after all, and I'd really like to avoid getting blood on the sheets." Sam put down her supplies on the bench and gave him a sly smile. "Plus, I'd be a fool to pass up an opportunity to see you shirtless again. Arrow-holes and partially-healed incisions not withstanding, it's still a nice view."

Spike grinned. "C'mere, pet."

"Why?"

He rolled his eyes. Wasn't it obvious? "So I can kiss you, that's why."

Sam matched his grin but wagged a finger at him. "Nuh-uh, mister. Kiss me all you like once I'm done playing naughty nurse." She turned and stepped across the hall, leaving behind a happy but frustrated vampire.

"You know what, Sam? You're a bloody tease."

She chuckled, rummaging under the bathroom sink and returning with Giles' first-aid kit. "And don't you forget it." She pulled over Giles' side table, popped open the kit and set it on the table, getting right to business. "Okay. I'm gonna do the spell first, just to get it out of the way, and then I'll patch you up. Sound good?"

He nodded at the bowl and paper she'd set aside earlier, trying not to seem anxious. "What's that lot?"

Sam gave him a gentle smile and sat down next to him on the bench. "The incantation, and dried sage and crushed coriander seed. Those witches were clever, using herbs that are common enough in cooking. Probably made it a lot easier to keep their supplies stocked." She waved a hand at his towel. "If you could just lift that out of the way…"

He quirked a suggestive eyebrow, but she didn't take the bait, just giving him a mildly annoyed look and holding out her little bowl so he could see the contents. "I need to sprinkle the herbs directly on it before saying the incantation."

"Oh?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger or annoyance, but enough to let him know that she was serious. "Keep everything else covered, mister."

Spike bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle and moved the towel just enough so she could get at his leg. He watched, fascinated, as she sprinkled a pinch of crushed herbs over his leg. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her eyes closed and she started chanting in a language he didn't recognize. Parts of it sounded like Greek and Latin, but he couldn't place most of the sing-song words. She kept chanting and gently cupped her hand over the wound, being careful that she wasn't applying any pressure to the torn skin. After a few moments, Spike felt something hard and smooth grow between his thigh and her palm. The chanting stopped, and she closed her hand around whatever it was, picking it up and then turning her hand over to look at it.

It was part of a stone arrowhead.

"Well," Sam looked so pleased with herself that she was practically glowing. _Effulgent…_ "That worked. Does your leg feel different?" Despite how happy she was with her own success, he could tell that her question was full of genuine concern. If the spell hadn't helped, she'd want to know.

Spike tried flexing the muscles and winced. "Yeah. Still sore, but now we've got that bit of rubble outta me, I should heal up fine." He leaned forward and slipped his hand around to the back of her head, pulling her close for a quick kiss. He let his hand slide to the cushion and sat back again, smiling. "Thank you, Sam."

She licked her lips and bobbed her head. "Uh, happy to help." Her eyes narrowed again and she leveled a playful glare at him. "Didn't I say kissing _after_ bandaging?"

He smirked. "Got impatient, luv. Can't blame a bloke. You're sittin' there, all gorgeous…"

"Wearing my last clean clothes and no deodorant?"

"You don't need window dressing, pet."

"Speaking of 'dressing'…" she trailed off, pointedly glancing at the first aid kit.

He groaned back in his throat, reluctantly tugging off his shirt and then letting himself fall back against the bookcase with a quiet 'thump'. "Okay, pet. Do your worst."

She unwrapped a small gauze pad, squeezed a bit of ointment on it, then gently laid it over his leg and fixed it in place with two pieces of tape. "Right," she muttered to herself "next victim."

Spike chuckled and shook his head, settling in to let her do her thing. There was a layer of padding along the sides of both bookcases which flanked the window seat, and he was quite comfy leaning against it. His eyes started to close, and he let them, contentedly listening as Sam started to hum. Much as he was enjoying her attentions, Spike really just wanted to go back to sleep. First Sam had said that he could go back to sleep right after breakfast, then it was delayed again when she brought up the bath issue, which, fair enough, he'd enjoyed, but it _had _been another delay, and now she was determined to tape bandages all over him. He just hoped that once this was done, he could settle in for a nice long sleep.

"Mind the one on my left shoulder, ducks. It went in through the back, so there's two holes need patching."

"Got it. Why 'ducks'?"

"Why not?"

She laughed softly. "Fair enough." After taping a bandage in place on his forehead, she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Okay, sweetie. Last one. Lean forward so I can get at it?" While Spike had been thinking about sleep and how soon he might be greeting Morpheus, Sam had all but finished her task.

He cracked one eye open, glanced down at himself to see four neat bandages, and then looked at her curiously. "How'd you get done so quick?"

She shrugged, fiddling with a bit of gauze which already had some tape attached to it. "Bandaging doesn't take long. Also, I think you dozed off for a minute or two. Good to know that you don't snore." Her grin was wicked as she stood up.

"Cheeky thing." He leaned forward slightly and Sam smoothed the last bit of tape against his skin. Once it was in place, she played her fingers through the damp platinum mess on his head.

"All done. Shirt and pants time. Think you'll be ready before I get the kit put away?"

Spike carefully tugged the gray t-shirt back over his head, making sure not to loosen any of the bits of tape. "Yeah. An' then upstairs, right? No more detours, pet. I'm bloody knackered. Feel like I could sleep for a week."

Sam nodded, snapping the first-aid kit shut. "Straight to bed for you, young man. Do not pass 'GO', do not collect two hundred dollars." She gave his shoulder a squeeze and put the pants on his lap. "I'll be right back."

Another smile, and then she closed the door behind herself. He stood, unwrapped the towel and started pulling on the striped pants, cursing at his leg when it protested his quick movements. He was adjusting the drawstring when Sam knocked. He grinned, feeling just like a bloody overeager schoolboy, and opened the door for her. "All set, luv."

She cocked her head slightly, looking him over, and a smile lit her face. "Gotta say, I like your hair messy." She stepped aside, letting him move into the hall, and then she headed out towards the living room.

"You do?" He'd been wearing his hair slicked back since… he didn't even remember when. Had to be at least since the late nineteen eighties. Aside from an initial fascination when he changed styles, which always waned quickly, Dru had never stated a preference for any of the 'looks' he'd had since their first meeting. Except when she saw him after he had swum ashore from that damned Nazi sub. He had no idea how she'd found him in Maine, of all places, especially when the last place he'd seen her was in the middle of Germany. His hair had been dyed black at the time, and he'd slicked it to blend in with blokes in Spain. She'd 'ooh'-ed over him then…

Sam nodded, reaching up to let her fingers play through his damp hair. "Yeah. When it's all slicked back, I feel like, I dunno, I'd be messing it up or something if I touched it, but like this…" Sam reached up and ran her hand over the messy curls. "It's more inviting, I guess," she frowned for a second and shook her head, chuckling to herself. "If that word even applies to hair."

"Glad you like it, pet. Never really cared 'bout my 'do. First time I slicked it back, Dru seemed to like it, so I kept doin' it, but I won't miss havin' to spend time fussin' over it each day." Spike slung his arm around her shoulders, mostly to be closer to her, but also because so much standing and sitting and walking was starting to take a toll on his damned leg.

"Leg bugging you?"

"Yeah." He let himself lean on her. Since she'd caught on, there was no point trying to hide it.

Her arm slipped around his back and she gave him a comforting squeeze. "It'll heal. Time, rest and plenty of blood, that all you need. Want a hand getting upstairs?"

He nodded tightly, glancing curiously at the empty kitchen and main room as they made for the staircase. "That'd be great, pet. Where's Giles?"

She shrugged in answer. "Out, I think. He's trying to fill his spare time. The current hobby is jogging, which, to be fair, is a good idea. Being out of shape in Sunnydale when you're friends with the Slayer is, well… suicidal."

They stepped onto the first stair and Spike huffed. "Well, if Watcher wants to off himself, there are easier way to do it. Spent a lot of time thinkin' bout that, after I found out I couldn't feed or bloody well defend myself."

Sam tugged him closer, both reassuring and reprimanding him at the same time. "Don't say that."

"I'm serious, pet. Starvin', hobbling around town, hiding from the damned sun all day in summat you _hope_ has four walls an' a roof… that's no way to live."

She reached up to pat the hand he had laid on her shoulder. "Well, in spite of all the crappy luck you've had, you're still... I mean, you haven't dusted yourself, so that's something, and I think the fact that you came here for help says a lot."

"Oh?"

She gave a tiny shrug. "It tells me that you're adaptable. As long as you can find a way to live... or un-live… or whatever the terminology is, without biting or fighting, I think you might have a chance to be happy."

"'_Happy'_? Pet, bein' helpless an' havin' to rely on charity from the Slayer's mates is makin' me miserable. You're the only thing that's makin' any of this bearable."

"Glad that I'm doing you some good." She squeezed his hand, "and I get that you hate relying on charity, doing the whole Mae West deal. It's just… in the end, what did being the Big Bad get you, aside from a broken heart and no one to turn to for help except bitter enemies? D'you think you could try to look at this whole thing as an opportunity for a fresh start? For me?"

Spike let out a puff of air somewhere between a laugh and a resigned sigh. "Okay, pet. I'll try. For you."

"Thanks." At the door to her room, Sam froze. "Crap."

He looked at her curiously. "Problem, luv?"

"Big time problem." She laughed to herself, shaking her head and then nodding inside. "My room has a window that faces east, and I didn't close the curtains."

His eyes went wide. The spot where they were standing and a yard or two just inside the doorway was in shadow, and safe enough for him, but the rest of her room was awash in sunlight. "So… think you can…?"

"Yeah. Just wait here while I close them, okay?"

He stepped into the room, carefully keeping to the shadows, and nodded, shifting his weight to lean against a dresser which was just to his right and flush against the room's outer wall. "No argument here, pet. And don't make a rush job of it, yeah?"

She patted his arm. "Don't worry. I'll make sure to block out all the sunlight." She went the rest of the way into her room and climbed onto a sort of padded bench which had been built into the window niche. Unlike the window seat downstairs, this one was more like a chaise lounge and big enough for someone to sit stretched out on it. Once she was kneeling on the seat, she undid the curtain tiebacks and tugged the drapes closed, even taking an extra few moments to fasten them shut and then checking the edges to make sure that no daylight was peeking through.

His eyes adjusted quickly to the comparative dark, but Sam switched on a bedside lamp to see by once she got down. The head of her bed was up against the wall opposite the doorway, and there was room to walk around the bed on three sides, although there was less space to walk along its left side. There were small tables on either side of the double bed, both pushed up against the back wall and both sporting small lamps. Sam's luggage was in the corner beside a closet in the left-hand wall, and the now-curtained window was in a sort of alcove on the right, giving the room a sort of L-shape if it were viewed from above. There was also a small padded chair between the window and the bed. All in all, it was a cozy and comfortable space, but the best thing about it as far as Spike was concerned, was that it smelled like Sam; herbs and soap and sunlight.

"Okay, I think its all set." She turned to face him. "Well," she smiled, making an exaggerated beckoning motion with one hand. "Come on, if you're coming."

He grinned and came forward, covering the few steps to stand on the same side of the bed as she was. She pulled back the covers and patted the exposed sheets with an encouraging nod.

Spike didn't waste any time; he lay down on the mattress, nabbing a pillow and shifting to get his legs under the covers. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the sheets and covers were warm to the touch, probably from being drenched in sunlight all morning, and he smiled at the heat of the sun-warmed covers. He hadn't felt anything like this since before he was turned, and the warmth was a relaxing novelty. He was still hilariously tired, and the sudden warmth was only serving to make him even more likely to drop off quickly. Even so, he wasn't about to shoo Sam out of the room. Not if there was a chance of having a bit of fun before he fell asleep.

"Pet, aren't you gonna tuck me in?"

She gave an annoyed sigh but grinned and walked around to his side of the bed, ruefully shaking her head along the way. "You," she pulled the covers up over him, chuckling in good-natured annoyance, "are impossible." She stood back up, tipping her head to one side as her eyes skimmed across the bed looking for potential sources of discomfort. Her brow furrowed and she sat down by his hip when something seemed to occur to her. "Just wondering, when did you start calling me 'pet'? And, y'know, why?"

He gently worried his bottom lip between his teeth before answering. "Last night, when you started really lookin' after me... carin' 'bout tryin' to help me. I'll pretty much call any bird 'luv', but 'pet' is..." he shrugged and looked up at her, meeting her eyes. "'S different."

She blinked at him, processing the info. "Is it more..." she trailed off and looked over at the nightstand, groping for a word, then back to him again when she found it. "It is more affectionate?"

He smirked. "Yeah. It is." Spike lifted his hand from under the covers and laid it on the hand she had braced against the mattress when she sat down. "Knowin' you give a damn about what happens to me... that you want to help me get stronger..." he shrugged again, suddenly looking sheepish and dropping his gaze to the covers. "It means a lot, Sam. Feels nice, just knowin' someone cares."

She smiled warmly and ran gentle fingers through his hair. "I do care about you, mister. Very much." She frowned slightly, talking half to herself, "more than actually makes sense for someone I met less than a day ago."

His eyes drifted shut and he felt Sam's weight shift on the mattress. He reasoned that the motion most likely meant that she was getting up, so he was surprised when he felt her press a soft kiss to his temple. He blinked up at her drowsily. Her mouth was curved in a fond smile, wild curls tumbling past her shoulders as she leaned over him.

"Sleep well, Spike. I'll come back to check on you in a few hours. Want me to bring lunch?"

He blinked at that, trying to make sense of her words. Room service. She was offering to bring him bloody room service. Aside from how posh that was, well... there was really only one answer to her question.

He nodded against the pillow, knackered and surprised but oddly content. "Yeah, pet. That'd be great."

"Okay." She got up and briefly fussed with the covers before heading for the door.

Spike watched her leave and then let his eyes close again, drifting off to the sounds of Sam moving around downstairs.

**TBC**


	15. Room Service

_Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there._

_A/N: Another fluffy chapter. Stuff will be happening soon. Plot stuff, actiony stuff, stuff not in Giles' flat! I promise, just… not yet. I'm still in the 'character' phase of this, establishing how Spike and Sam interact and where Spike's head is, for to make the AU events plausible when I finally get to them. Alas, this takes time._

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><p>"<em>And yet—it is not beauty that inspires the deepest passion.<em>

_Beauty without grace is the hook without the bait._

_Beauty, without expression, tires."_

_~ Ralph Waldo Emerson_

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><p>15 – Room Service<p>

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><p>Spike turned over in bed, pressing his face into the pillow. His stomach grumbled discontentedly, and he felt himself drifting towards wakefulness. He rubbed a hand over his face, blinking. This was the first time he'd woken up in a bed in… how long had it been? Weeks? Well over a month, more like, since he'd been grabbed the night he got back from L.A.. This wasn't just any bed, though. It was Sam's bed. Sure, the room actually belonged to Giles, as did the mattress, sheets and pillows, and there was no mistaking the watcher's scent on them, but Sam's scent was much stronger in the room, especially on the blankets. Spike closed his eyes and langidly stretched his arms, just enjoying the moment.<p>

He had started to drift off again when there were footsteps in the hall, followed by a gentle knock at the door.

"Spike, are you awake?"

His face split in a grin at her voice, and a quick whiff at the air told him that she'd followed through on the promise of lunch. "Come on in, luv." A clock over the dresser showed that the time was half-past noon, so he'd gotten a few hours of solid rest and he felt better for it, but smelling the blood seemed to remind his stomach of how empty it was, so he was all the more eager to bolt down whatever Sam had brought him.

The doorknob turned slower than he would have liked, considering how hungry he was, but he held his tongue instead of trying to hurry her along. A few interminable seconds later, the door swung open and Sam walked in. Just like she had done the night before and at breakfast, she had set up a tray of four coffee mugs, all filled with steaming plasma. She smiled at him over the tray as she approached the bed, and then set it down on the bedside table nearer the window. "Think I got it, this time."

He sat up against the headboard and shifted a bit closer to the tray, trying to get within easy reach of his lunch. "Yeah?"

"Yup. Paprika, ginger, and Wheetabix, since you said you liked the texture. Acidity actually works well with spice, so I nixed the baking soda." She offered a hopeful smile. "And…" The smile faltered a bit, as though she were about to give him some bad news, and she produced a straw.

He grimaced slightly. Bloody perfect. Just when was he going to stop feeling like a damned invalid already? She was only trying to help, he knew that well enough, but the unintentional reminder of how far he'd come from his swaggering, badass self still made him cringe.

"Pet…" There was more of a whinge in his voice than he intended, but he couldn't tell if Sam noticed.

Sam shrugged, looking apologetic and worried as she held out the straw. "Yeah, I know you don't like it, but I thought if you were comfy and didn't want to sit up, then-"

His mouth twitched into a smile. This bird really was something special. He hated to think what his situation might be if she weren't staying with Giles for her winter vacation. "Thanks, luv."

She beamed, but the happy look slipped away again just before she sat down by his hip. "Oh. Crap."

Spike was instantly worried. "Pet?"

Her shoulders slumped dejectedly and her head fell forward. "Nrg. I didn't think. The bits of Wheetabix won't fit through the straw, will they?"

He chuckled, warmed and amused and touched all at once by her attentions. "Pet, you don't have to fuss so much." He was reveling in the way she was doting on him, but he didn't want her to feel like she _had_ to dote on him, lest she start to resent it.

"Yeah, but I want to." She gave him a sheepish half smile and let one hand come to rest on his knee. "I like fussing over you, my handsome William."

Spike was sincerely glad that vamps couldn't blush, because if they could, he knew his face would have been bright pink.

She fidjeted slightly and reached over to hand him one of the mugs, seeming nervous all of a sudden, although he had no idea why. "Is it okay if… Can I call you 'William'?"

He accepted the mug, looking at her curiously. "Sure, I s'pose. Been a while since anyone called me that." He took a mouthful of blood, and was pleasantly surprised. "Pet? This is actually… good."

She gave him an annoyed look. "Don't sound so shocked."

He shook his head, scrambling to explain. "No, really. This is… I'm actually _enjoyin'_ it. This is the first meal I've enjoyed since before the bloody soldiers… hell, since before I got back from L.A."

"So, this thing between us," she smiled crookedly. "Do you think its the Florence Nightingale deal, or just your run-of-the-mill Stockholm Syndrome?"

The sudden, blunt question took him by surprise. They had been getting on so well, at least he had thought they were, so he was a little spun by the way she seemed to be dismissing their budding romance as merely a cliched psychological product of their circumstances, but after a moment he took another mouthful and shrugged, affecting indifference after he swallowed the blood down. "Dunno, pet. What do you think it is?"

Her smile dimmed slightly, and he saw the nervousness she had been trying to hide. "I think I'm trying to logic myself out of falling for you, because I'm pretty sure that being with you wouldn't be all rosebuds and candy, and really, I'm just a big romantic sap who doesn't want to get hurt." She flashed an encouraging smile and gently nudged him. "Your turn. Honesty time."

He sighed, letting his head rest against the iron headboard. "Already told you how much it means that you're lookin' out for me an that you're not doing it 'coz you have an agenda, but because you think I'm worthwhile, an' that's... that's something new for me, having one of the goody-good guys give a toss about me when they aren't getting something out of it, but I..." He closed his eyes, frowning in surprise when she started combing her fingers through his hair. "Only bird I've ever been serious about was Dru, and she..."

She squeezed his hand. "I get it. You don't want to get hurt again. And I don't want to be some rebound shag who you'll forget about in a couple of weeks."

He looked up, saw how much the idea of being used like that pained her, and he sighed. "No, Sam, you could never be that. I'm aleady fallin' for you, I just…" She clearly knew enough about Dru and Harmony to be reluctant about letting him into her heart right away. He could reassure her till he was blue in the face – metaphorically, any way – but the only way to show her that what they had was real was to give her time. Hell, he wasn't going anywhere, or getting any older, and she sure as hell seemed worth the wait. He'd just have to practice being patient. Besides, much as he wanted to, he couldn't seem to quash the traitorous doubts that kept whispering to him, warning him against letting himself get hurt again. Time would probably help them both. He turned his hand in her grasp and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "Maybe its not such a bad thing that we're goin' slow. Gotta make sure we both trust this 'fore we get too far into it."

She nodded, fighting back a smile. "Why, Spike, are you trying to be mature?"

There was a playful tone to her voice, but he only shrugged it off. "Not the first time, luv."

"Just don't start acting your age, ok? Cuz that could make things pretty damn awkward."

He chuckled at that, nodded his aquiesence, and set about finishing off the other three mugs of blood.

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><p>When he handed over the last empty mug, Sam set it down on the tray along with the others and moved towards the edge of the mattress. She started to get up, but found that she couldn't move her arm. Puzzled, she glanced down to see that Spike was holding onto her wrist. Sam looked back at him, and became more confused. The Mr. Sexypants mask had gone, and in its place was an expression which she couldn't read. Aside from looking tired, there was something urgent about the look on his face. An urgency which she didn't understand, and<em> s<em>he started to get worried. "Do you need something before I go?"

His grip tightened on her wrist. Not enough to be painful, but enough to keep her attention, and his eyes seemed oddly intense about… something. "Don't."

She blinked, not getting it, and was briefly tempted to tell him to 'use your words.' Instead, she just asked, "don't what?"

"Go."

Sam tugged at her arm. It was pretty much a futile gesture, considering that even weakened he still had a good hold on her wrist, but she wanted her hand back. She made a small, frustrated noise, trying to loosen his hold by flexing her wrist first one way, then another, while she tried asking again. "Spike, give me a straight answer. What do you want?"

He set his jaw and shot her a guarded look. "I..." She tugged at her arm again, more as a reflex than anything else. He sighed and let her hand go, shifting in the bed and looking away from her as he drew in on himself slightly. "Forget it. 'S... just forget it."

Now, that was interesting. Weird, but interesting… which, when she thought about it, pretty much summed up the last twenty four hours. Sam shook her head slightly. Well, no point being coy now. If Spike wanted to play 'I've got a secret', she was gonna find out what it was. She sat back down on the bed, resting a hand just above his knee and tried to angle her head so that they were eye-to-eye. "Spike, what were you gonna say?" She kept her tone gentle and conversational, since she was pretty sure that letting her frustration show would either make him lash out or shut down, and neither of those would lead to a straight answer.

He met her eyes for nearly a second, then his jaw tightened and he looked away. "Nevermind." He spoke with studied non-chalance, staring at the opposite wall and shrugging one shoulder. "Doesn't matter. Go on downstairs if you like. Makes no difference to me. " His eyes were focused across the room as he spoke, and they didn't shift back to Sam, which annoyed the crap out of her. She was about to snap at him to stop being evasive when comprehension dawned. She hadn't seen this side of him before, so it took her almost a full minute to figure out what was going on with him, but once she did, well… she couldn't help smiling.

Sam leaned back against the pillows until their shoulders were touching and she could feel the side of his leg pressing into her knee and shook her head, grinning. "If you wanted company, all you had to do was ask."

Spike's eyes flicked to her, wide and full of surprise before he tried to quickly cover with some thin bravado. "Sure I don't know what you mean, luv."

She only smiled wider, knowing she'd hit the mark. "Bull."

He sat up a little, squaring his shoulders and glaring indignantly in a way that was probably meant to look tough. Instead, she just thought it was adorable. "Oi! I'll have you know that I wasn't going ta ask any such thing. Pfft. 'S not like I couldn't..." She stared at him and kept staring until he caved, "...use a bit of company," he finished lamely.

She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Do you want me to stay for a while?"

He shrugged again, but it was slightly less non-commital than before, and this time he glanced at her for an extra second or two. "Do whatever you like, luv. Makes no difference to me."

She gave her head a tiny shake, more intrigued than annoyed by shy-guy Spike. "I'm guessing this is as close as you're gonna get to asking for help. Well, I'm stayin', blondie, whether you like it or not."

He quirked a surprised eyebrow and seemed to uncoil slightly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She patted his leg through the blankets. "I'll be your company. Just let me take these puppies," she gestured at the mugs, "downstairs. I'll have 'em cleaned and be back in five minutes, tops."

His forehead wrinkled up and he gave her a searching look, still looking ill at ease. "You sure, pet? I mean," she put a finger across his lips, cutting him off by making the 'shh' gesture.

"Nope, my mind's made up." She got up and grabbed the tray again, and this time he didn't move to stop her. "Just don't fall asleep before I get back."

"Right." He blinked and nodded, and the last of his tension seemed to disappear. "Thanks, pet. You're a love." Spike closed his eyes as she stepped away, relaxing against the still propped-up pillows. Halfway to the door, she looked over her shoulder and caught him watching her, a slight happy quirk to his lips as she covered the rest of the distance. She hesitated at the door, then stepped back to his side of the bed. Spike blinked up at her sleepily. "Forget something?"

"Yup." She smiled at him fondly and set the dirty mugs down on the bedside table.

He watched her curiously as she sat down on the edge of the bed. "What are y-" his question died away when she leaned in and gave his temple a soft kiss.

She sat back and smiled at him, standing and taking a moment to adjust his covers. "_Now_ I'm ready to go downstairs."

He tilted his head to one side and frowned up at her. "What was that for?"

She shrugged, smiling, and picked up the tray once more. "Just needed to. Stay awake for a few minutes, and I'll be right back. I have plans with Willow this afternoon, so I'll be gone for a few hours, but you'll be asleep while I'm out, and tomorrow you'll have me all to yourself. Sound good?"

He nodded, and she resisted the urge to give him another kiss. She headed for the door again, shaking her head as she tried to puzzle out the bleached contradiction that was Spike.

He didn't want to look weak, but he seemed to enjoy, or at the very least, he tolerated being fussed over. He'd killed two Slayers and god only knew how many people, but when she'd been crying and upset, he'd done a pretty damn good job of comforting her. He kidnapped Willow last year and tried to turn her last month… and when Sam asked him to come to a screeching halt before rounding third, he'd done so without complaint. He'd helped Drusilla re-assemble the Judge, but then sided with Buffy to stop Angelus from awakening Acathla. He earned his nickname by torturing people with rail-road spikes… and he liked poetry and a good cuddle.

The only consistent thing about him seemed to be that he was inconsistent, with no real plan or pattern to why he did things. Aside from physical description, the vamp she had heard so much about didn't really seem to resemble the guy dozing in her bed. The guy she'd eaten dinner with, fallen asleep next to on the couch and patched up in the study was sweet. Weird, but sweet. He was affectionate and charming, and surprisingly vulnerable when he let his guard down. Then again, when he was acting like the Big Bad, flirting and cocky and trying to hide how much he was hurting – the way he had vamped out and yelled at her when he fell over came to mind - she could glimpse the Spike that the gang had told her about. Figuring him out was going to take a while, but she had a feeling that it would be worth the effort. She didn't know yet how much of his 'badness' was an act, some sort of defense mechanism… or maybe it was the sweetness that was an act. Was he really as evil and dangerous as Giles thought, or had the ex-Watcher not bothered to look for hidden depths? Sam started to wonder if her attraction to Spike was clouding her judgement, and she realized that even if it was, she couldn't just will herself to not care about him. Angsting over how good or evil he was, doubting his sincerity and her own judgement, worrying about whether she was setting herself up to get hurt… those were all dead-end roads. She didn't see the point in tying herself up in knots over 'what-ifs', and she didn't have the temperment for brooding.

It really all boiled down to two facts: She liked him, and he liked her.

She wasn't about to jump off the rollercoaster now.

Sam made her way down the stairs and towards the kitchen, muttering to herself, "A contradiction wrapped in an enigma… with trust issues and really unfortunate hair."

"You say something?"

She looked up and saw that Giles had just closed the front door behind himself. His gray tshirt had a few sweat stains, and he was slightly out of breath.

She shook her head, continuing on her way towards the kitchen. "Just talking to myself. I didn't hear you come back. Did you have a good run?"

He smiled, wiping the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his forehead. "I did, actually."

She stepped into the kitchen and started running the sink. "I'm gonna be upstairs with Spike for a while, so if you could just give a shout when Willow comes by-"

"And, may I ask what will you be doing with him?"

She crossed her arms and fixed Giles with a hard look. "Just keeping him company while he rests. Theres a book I'm halfway through, and I'm hoping to read a few more chapters before Willow comes by."

Giles nodded, clearly not happy with this development, but he didn't argue with her. He just let out a tired sigh. "I suppose we must agree to disagree where Spike is concerned, but so long as you supervise him and continue to learn what he knows about the commandos, I shant object. However, if he abuses my hospitality or you in any way, I won't hesitate to act."

Sam relaxed her posture and gave him a smile. She was glad of that. She didn't like fighting with Giles, or with anyone she cared about, but that didn't stop her from speaking up when she disagreed with one of them. It was much easier when she wasn't at odds with her friends. "Thanks. And I won't try to convince you of the good I've seen in him."

He nodded and got himself a glass of juice. "As long as we have an understanding."

When Sam came back upstairs, she found that Spike had broken his word.

He was sound asleep.

She couldn't help smiling a little. Yes, he'd broken his promise, but he looked so sweet dozing there that she couldn't really be angry. His chest didn't rise and fall, which was weird, but she knew that it made sense. However, he wasn't motionless and corpse-like either. One of his hands lay on top of the covers, and his fingers twitched every so often. When she got closer, she saw that his eyes were moving beneath their lids. Even though she'd only been out of the room for a few minutes, it looked like he'd already entered REM sleep. What did vampires dream about, anyway? She stacked a couple of pillows up against the headboard and then sat down on the window-side of the bed, leaning back into the pillows until she was sitting comfortably. Spike shifted slighty under the blankets, making a quiet, quizzical noise when she settled next to him. Sam gently squeezed his shoulder. "It's just me, Spike. No need to wake up."

He grumbled softly to himself and rolled closer, letting his arm fall across her lap and fisting his hand in the sheets next to her hip before pillowing his head on her thigh. She smiled and let her hand slide around to run over his back in a soothing motion. "Silly vampire." She kissed his temple, leaned away to flick on the bedside lamp, and settled in to read her book, absently letting her hand come to rest against his side. "William the Bloody, hmm? You seem more like 'William the Cuddly' to me. No idea how I'm gonna get up without waking you, but that's the next problem."

Just shy of an hour later, there was a soft knock at the door. Sam looked up from her book and saw the door crack open before Willow's voice quietly drifted in from the hallway. "Sam? Are you ready to go get lunch?"

Sam smiled, putting a playing card into her book to mark the page she'd been on and setting the book down by the lamp. She didn't want to raise her voice and risk waking Spike, so she waited for Willow to poke her head into the room and then gave her friend a nod and a 'wait-a-minute' gesture.

Willow's expression changed from happy to confused in record time, and Sam grimaced. She wasn't looking forward to explaining this.

Sam managed to gently slide herself out from under his arm and over to the edge of the bed without waking Spike. Once she was standing again, she took a piece of notebook paper and scribbled a quick note which she left on the unoccupied pillow by Spike's head. She put her shoes on and left the room, walking past Willow, who hadn't really moved since she first peeked in. However, once Sam passed her, Willow spent a few seconds looking back and forth between her friend and the sleeping vampire with a thoroughly freaked out look on her face.

"What… I mean, Sam, what?" Willow's voice was high and squeaky.

Sam winced at the high pitch and shushed her. "Just don't wake him up, okay? I'll tell you about it while we're, y'know, out doing stuff and catching up."

Willow seemed to pull herself together. "Kay," she reluctantly agreed, then pointed a no-nonsense finger at Sam and coupled it with her best 'resolve-face', "but you'd better explain yourself, missy. Cuz snuggling with Spike? I don't even know where to start with the bad."

They headed down the stairs and Sam sighed. So much for fun. The plan had been to take Sam's suitcase and duffle of dirty clothes to the laundromat, then buy ingredients at the Magic Box so Sam could try out some of the spells and potions she found while hanging with German, French and Italian covens. They would grab lunch and catch up while the clothes were drying, and maybe hit a local thrift store which usually had cool retro stuff. Sure, they'd probably still do all that stuff, but now there would have to be more explaining and self-analyzing and time for self-doubt.

Sam tried, though. "Can't you just be happy to see me, and skip the third degree?"

Willow quirked an eyebrow at her as they gathered up the dirty laundry. "Nope. Nice try."

Sam groaned. "Great."

TBC


	16. Misery Loves Company

_Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there._

_A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Maralexa, Mom8828, Ginar369 and juggling, who are always so kind with their reviews._

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><p>"<em>Ideologies separate us.<em>

_Dreams and anguish bring us together."_

_~ Playwright Eugene Ionescu_

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><p>16 - Misery Loves Company<p>

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><p>Willow and Sam had gone to the thrift shop first, to talk while they browsed. They had been going through one of the vintage racks, and Willow was getting ticked off. Even though Sam had been reluctant to admit it, she clearly had some kind of warm fuzzy feelings for Spike.<p>

Willow angrily pushed aside an ugly lime green dress which looked like it belonged at a prom from the 1980s. There was only so much smiling and being understanding that she could do, and this went _way_ beyond the whole 'don't-get-in-the-way-of-your-friend's-happiness-or-judge-them' policy which she tried to live by. "How else do you explain the cuddling? Or the bed? There was cuddling happening in your bed, Sam! It's _Spike_ we're talking about here. Mr. Bottle-in-face?! He kidnapped me last year and tried to bite me last month, and now… cuddling?! What were you thinking?"

Instead of looking at Willow, Sam frowned at another tragedy in polyester. "At first, it was just… it seemed like the right thing to do, you know? I felt bad for him, and… I mean, you guys don't trust him, he doesn't trust you, and he has info that you guys want, so stopping Giles from treating him like crap just made sense. Plus, he was friendly and polite to me, so I figured he'd talk to me more easily. But then…" she shook her head, and a faint smile started to curl her mouth. "There was flirting, and he was sweet. We just kind of connected." She paused, a dopey smile spreading over her face, and then she gave a wry chuckle. "I wasn't sure about trusting him at first for, well, obvious reasons, so I gave him a few chances, just to see what he'd do. When his leg gave out after dinner and I helped him get to the couch, it was a perfect opportunity for him to get a case of the wandering hands."

Willow's mouth fell open, and she squeaked, appalled. "Sam!"

Sam rolled her eyes, smiling. "I didn't _want _him to feel me up, I just wanted to see if he was an opportunistic pervert. He didn't try anything, just so you know, and that earned him some trustworthy points."

Willow nodded, still trying to wrap her brain around Sam's reasoning. "I get that, the wanting to help and feeling bad for someone who is going through a hard time. So, are you being nice to him so he'll help us, or do you want to help him because you're letting your, uh, downstairs brain do the thinking?"

"I don't know, okay?" Sam shook her head helplessly. "Maybe its both."

"Sam, he's… are you having a bad-boy phase? Is that what this is?"

"No, Will. I just… I've seen a side of him that's really sweet and surprising. If you saw it too, I know you'd understand why I like him so much."

After half an hour of back and forth, Willow realized that she wasn't going to talk her friend out of anything. Not that she'd ever really been able to. Sam was bright and stubborn, and although she listened to her friends' opinions, she always made up her own mind. Willow used to admire that about her. Now, that confidence scared her. Didn't Sam realize what she was getting herself into?

It was nearly five o'clock now, and they were heading back to Giles' place. Fortunately, he'd let them borrow his little gray tin can of a car for their errands, so they weren't schlepping all the laundry, spell supplies and other shopping on foot. Sam had found a few great things at the thrift shop, and Willow had gotten herself a cute poncho-sweater thing. It had colorful horizontal stripes with bright squiggly lines, neat patterns and fluffy fringe. Yeah, it came down over her elbows and made moving her arms kinda tricky, but it was warm and would be perfect for a patrol-y night out with Buffy.

When they pulled up to the curb outside Giles' place, Xander and Anya were just walking up, and once they parked Xand took the humongous laundry bag out of the back seat for them. Willow grinned at him, holding up two bulging shopping bags. "Thanks, Xand. We've kinda got our hands full, here." Sam climbed out of the driver's side, carrying a paper bag with the words 'Magic Box' on it.

Xander shifted his hold on the bag, slinging the strap over his shoulders so the bag hung messenger-style across his back. "Well ladies, maybe this will teach you to plan ahead with your errands."

Anya rolled her eyes. "Please, Xander. When was the last time you had to go do laundry? The machines are right across from your bed, and as far as I can tell, you haven't bought any new clothes since we met."

Sam grinned, nodding at the ex-demon as she grabbed a smaller laundry bag out of the car. "I was gonna say that. You must be Anya." She adjusted the bags so one of her hands was free for a handshake, and then held it out. "I'm Sam, Xander's cousin. It's good to meet you."

Anya stared at the hand for a moment, then her eyes lit up and she moved forward, smiling and shaking the proffered hand. "Yes, it must be. I'm very interesting."

Willow rolled her eyes and noticed that Xander was looking up at the sky. He frowned, gesturing toward the apartments. "Ladies, this is going _much _better than I thought it would, but maybe we should get inside. Y'know, sunset. Hellmouth. No Slayer."

Willow couldn't help smiling. He was trying to be practical and protective of his favorite girls. Unnecessary, but sweet. She gave him an affectionate nudge him with her elbow. "Dunno what we'd do without your keen observations, Xand."

He made an exaggeratedly modest face and shrugged, starting to head up the stairs. "What I'm here for."

The girls followed and Anya turned to Sam, all chirpy curiosity. "So, what has he told you about me?"

Sam shrugged. "Just that you're an ex-vengeance demon… and that he's sleeping with you."

"What?!" Anya reached forward and slapped Xander's arm. "So I'm just another conquest, huh? I should have known better. Men are no different now than they were during the crusades."

Willow bit her lip to keep from laughing. Maybe Sam would end this thing with Anya before it got too serious and Xander got hurt. If that happened, she might be willing to keep an open mind about whatever was going on with Spike… or not. Lesser of two evils notwithstanding, she didn't want to let either of her friends set themselves up to be hurt.

"No, Anya, you're not… I didn't say-"

Xander's indignant sputtering was cut off by Sam as they reached the courtyard outside Giles' apartment. "He didn't tell me about the sleeping. It was pretty obvious, though, with how intense he was about wanting me to meet you, and I know he wants me to like you, which means that he _really _likes you."

"Right," Willow couldn't help chiming in. "It's not like the Cordy thing, where he was sneaking around with her for months and they were making out in closets. He actually takes you out in public. It's a big step, huh, Xand?"

Xander looked at each of them in turn, giving his best wounded puppy-dog face. "Okay, when did this turn into 'gang up on Xander day'?"

Sam chuckled. "Probably when you woke up. You always forget how much I like to bust your chops."

He rolled his eyes. "Silly me, only remembering the good times."

Sam just shrugged. "Probably why I have to remind you."

Willow knocked on the door, shaking her head at the good natured bickering and bantering. It felt kinda like old times, before they knew about the Hellmouth. Before Buffy had come to town and everything had changed. Not that she didn't love Buffy, but sometimes she missed the simpler days when they had been in the dark about the fight between good and evil, and the worst thing she had to worry about was a zit a pop quiz. "Giles, we're back." She smiled and opened the door when Giles called out for them to come in.

Giles stepped out of the hallway. "Did you have a successful outing?"

Sam nodded, moving toward the main table. "We did. Got stuff, cleared the air _and _washed my clothes. My 'to-do' list is all checked off. How about here? Any excitement?"

Willow put down her bag of thrift store purchases by the coat rack. The other bag had stuff that Sam had picked out, and Willow put that one by the stairs. Sam's bag had much more stuff in it, and Willow wanted to make sure the bags wouldn't get mixed up by mistake.

Giles glanced upstairs, then shook his head. "All quiet. Our, erm, guest hasn't been any trouble, and there hasn't been any movement upstairs, so I would assume that he is still resting in your room-"

Xander cut him off, looking from Sam to Giles and back again, his eyes wide and confused. "Wait, you guys aren't talking about fangless, are you? He's in your _room_?! And since when is he a 'guest'?" he hooked his fingers into sarcastic air-quotes for the last word. "Guests are people you… well, they're _people_, so straight off he doesn't qualify, but they're usually not someone who tried to kill your friends a bunch of times."

Sam plopped her laundry bag onto Giles' couch with an irritated-sounding sigh and rounded on her cousin with a scowl. When she spoke, it sounded like she was talking to a very small child. "Xand, Spike made a deal with Giles. As long as Spike holds up his end of the deal and doesn't cause any trouble, Giles won't keep him tied up."

Giles huffed and started to clean his glasses, muttering half to himself, "it was hardly my idea to molly-coddle him…"

Sam narrowed her eyes at Giles. "No, you just expected that he'd want to tell us everything after you left him chained up and bloody on the floor, because _that _makes sense…" she closed her eyes and shook her head, taking a few breaths before she spoke again. "We don't need to have this argument a third time. All you need to know, Xand, is that Spike won't be trying to hurt any of us. He can't hurt anyone, actually. He's in pretty rough shape, too, so I'm helping him heal and playing referee _for now._ The sooner you can all learn to get along, the happier I'll be."

Willow frowned, not liking the implications of what she was hearing. Or, actually, of what she _wasn't _hearing. Sam and Giles clearly weren't seeing things the same way, but that wasn't the real issue. Sam hadn't lied, exactly, but she wasn't telling the whole truth, either. Sam hadn't mentioned how much she cared about Spike, which, okay, was probably a good idea, especially considering how freaked Xander already was. They didn't need to put any more fuel on _that _fire. After all, the truly weird and freaksome image of Spike cuddled up in Sam's bed was still fresh in Willow's mind, and although she was coming to terms with the idea that Sam and the vampire were sort of together, it was a safe bet that if Xander found out about them right now, he'd completely flip and do something stupid. Probably something involving the business end of a stake.

"Uh-huh." Xander crossed his arms, wearing his 'I'm figuring things out' face. "So, when you say you're 'helping him heal', what exactly does that mean?"

Giles had finished cleaning his glasses and moved into the kitchen. "She fixed him breakfast and drew him a bath this morning. It's safe to assume that she didn't bring him up to her bedroom so he could sleep on the floor."

Sam sighed and handed off the bag of spell supplies to Willow with a 'can you believe this?' look, rolling her eyes in a very unhappy way. "Y'know _'she' _is standing right here."

Xander shook his head, throwing his arms out and then letting them fall to his sides. "Then why doesn't she know that she's being taken advantage of? Spike was fine the other day, so why does he suddenly need to be tucked up in _your_ bed, being waited on hand and foot? He's an evil, disgusting, soulless thing. He can't even fight, so he's not just a waste of time, he's a waste of _space _too. I'll bet he's just playing sick, trying to con you into feeling sorry for him so you'll forget about everything evil he's done. You're so smart, so why can't you see what he's doing?"

Sam's eyes narrowed, and Willow felt her shoulders slump. This was about to get ugly. Sam spat out, "Oh, the way you've clearly forgotten about the countless thousands of people your new girlfriend killed and maimed when she was a vengeance demon?" This was turning into a real fight, not a friendly debate.

Xander shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable about being the one under scrutiny. "That's different!"

"How? She has a hell of a lot more blood on her hands than Spike does, and I don't see her showing any remorse for that."

Willow glanced over at Anya, who had seemed distracted until Sam mentioned her. Anya nodded matter-of-factly. "She has a point, Xander. I brought ruin to the heads of countless men, not just for the sake of vengeance, but to please D'Hoffryn and other lower beings. It was my job, and I did it. Happily. You know I miss it. Most people think vengeance is petty, but its really an important part of the cosmic order-"

Xander tried to cut her off. "Honey, you're not helping me here."

Sam gestured at Anya and nodded, giving a tight smile. "Thank you." She glared at Xander again, "And is the gang giving you grief for hanging out with her, doing whatever it is the two of you do behind closed doors? _No_, they aren't, even if they don't get what you see in her. So why don't you just back off? I can tell when someone is faking an injury, and believe me, that's _not _what's happening."

Anya shrugged. "Shes probably right. Spike had been on the run, just trying to survive before he came here. Vampires can do that, you know, ignore their injuries and go without feeding for a pretty long time when they're trying to get to safety. Now that's he's found shelter here, his body has most likely used up the adrenaline that was keeping him going, so he'll need rest and plenty of blood to recover from any injuries he picked up along the way. It's a basic vampire survival method. Run, then hole up somewhere safe and heal."

Sam made a happy noise, followed by a triumphant 'Aha!' She turned to Xander, grinning. "Told you so." Then she nodded at Anya, still smiling wide. "I like you."

Anya blinked, looking confused. "Why?"

Sam gestured between herself and Xander. "You helped me win an argument. As long as you don't hurt Xander in any way, I think we'll get along just fine. If you hurt him, though, I'll have to gut you and strangle you with your own intestines."

Anya nodded, taking that in, and then said brightly, "I think we could end of being good friends. You seem to have an excellent grasp of vengeance, and I don't often see that nowadays."

Everyone stared at her for a moment, but it was Willow who found her voice first. "Anya, how do you know so much about vampires?"

Anya shrugged in a way that pretty much said 'duh' and moved to sit on the bench by Giles' breakfast bar. "I was a demon for over a thousand years. I learned a lot about different types of demons. What they do to humans and each other and why, and how humans have tried to fight them."

Giles stepped forward, looking intrigued. "Would… I don't suppose you would be willing to tell me some of what you know? Your knowledge could prove very useful."

Anya rolled her eyes, sighing, and rested her chin in her hand. "Sure, I guess. But not tonight." She reached over and took possessive hold of Xander's hand. "We have plans."

Willow shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to picture, well, anything about those plans, and judging by the way that Giles was pointedly looking at his shoes, it seemed like he was doing the same thing. "Come on, Sam," she finally managed to say. "Lets get your clothes and stuff upstairs."

Sam nodded. "Sure." She headed for the stairs, grabbing the big laundry bag from Xander on her way over. She didn't say anything to him, just glared and hefted the bag onto her shoulder before starting up the stairs.

Willow had put the spell supplies on Giles' table while Sam and Xander were fighting, so her hands were free to grab the rest of the laundry, as well as Sam's bag of thrift store stuff, and then she followed Sam upstairs. When she got to the upstairs hall, Sam was standing outside Giles' guest room with her hand poised to knock.

She noticed Willow and smiled. "So, that was the opposite of fun."

Willow sighed. "Yeah. What is it with the Harris family and falling for demons?"

Sam just shrugged. "No idea, but it isn't a pattern with me. And I'm a pretty darn good judge of character."

Willow shifted uneasily. She didn't want to poke at Sam until she'd had time to calm down from the fight with Xander, but she couldn't just pretend that she wasn't worried. "Maybe this time you're wrong."

Sam flashed Willow a wry grin. "Well, there's a first time for everything." She bit her lip. "Could you try to keep an open mind? I get that you don't like the idea of me and Spike being all snuggly, but could you keep any judgmental comments to yourself for a while? I've had to listen to more than enough of 'em over the past day."

Willow nodded. It was a simple enough request, and worried as she was, she knew that nagging Sam never accomplished anything. "Sure. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I know." Sam smiled and knocked on the door. "Spike?" There was no answer, so she knocked again, shifting the laundry bag between her shoulders. "It's me. Are you awake?"

He answered in a surprisingly subdued voice. "Come on in, pet."

Sam opened the door and stepped in, gesturing behind herself. "Is it okay if Willow stays? We still have a bunch of catching up to do, and I don't want her to leave yet."

Willow couldn't see Sam's face, but the older witch's voice was tense. She had a hunch that Sam wanted her to stay not just so they could catch up, but so that Willow could see this supposedly sweet side of William the Bloody.

Spike regarded Willow thoughtfully for a few seconds, then gave a shrug. "Yeah, guess so."

Sam put her laundry down in front of the dresser and then moved to sit on the bed.

Willow stayed just inside the doorway and fidgeted slightly, not sure what to do what herself. The last time, actually, the only times she'd been alone in a bedroom with Spike, he'd tried to kill her. One of those times had been last year when he was heartbroken and on a bender, and he had kidnapped her so she could cast a love spell on Drusilla which would convince the mad vampire to be his lover again. The other time was when he'd had trouble 'performing' so she wasn't exactly eager to get comfy. Being comfy in the same room with Spike wasn't something that was likely to happen any time soon.

Thinking back on it, when he'd been crazed, drunk and heartbroken, he hadn't actually hurt her. He'd hit Xander over the head with a microscope and threatened to kill him if Willow didn't do as he wanted, but he hadn't hurt her aside from grabbing her arm and scaring her half out of her mind. That bottle-in-face thing had terrified her, but looking back on it now, he could have done a whole hell of a lot worse than just threaten her. It was weird, realizing that. He hadn't killed her because he had needed her, but there were plenty of other ways he could have hurt her. Ways she really, _really _didn't want to think about just now. Except he hadn't hurt her.

After making sure that she was properly scared of him, he'd just talked to her. Cried on her shoulder and talked about how Drusilla had cheated on him before she dumped him. When it seemed like he wanted to bite her – and it turned out that, yeah, that's _exactly _what he'd wanted to do – he backed down as soon as she stood firm and declared that she would help him, but that 'there will be no bottle-in-face, and there will be no having of any kind with me.'

She'd even seen a kind side of him after he'd failed to bite her in the dorms.

"_Well, you came looking for Buffy, then settled. I-I... You didn't want to bite me. I just happened to be around._"

He'd given her a weird look, so she went on, feeling extra neurotic and self-conscious. "_I know I'm not the kind of girl vamps like to sink their teeth into. It's always like, 'ooh, you're like a sister to me,' or, 'oh, you're such a good friend.'_"

He'd sat down next to her and they had talked. He'd comforted her when she blamed herself for his inability to bite, telling her that her self-loathing was nonsense and she was plenty desirable, and then somehow it felt like they were old friends or something, talking about old times, as crazy as _that _sounded, since the memory lane they were walking down happened to be Drunken Kidnap Avenue.

"_Remember last year, you had on that... Fuzzy pink number with the lilac underneath?_" He'd given her a knowing look, and she remembered that she'd smiled. A genuine smile. While talking with a guy who had _just_ tried to kill her about the _last_ time he had almost killed her. And it wasn't weird or tense… which made it all so much weirder.

Since he'd helped her feel better, she had wanted to do the same for him, so she had tried to cheer him up. "_You know, this doesn't make you any less terrifying._"

It had been part of yet another surreal night, and she hadn't given it much thought until now, but maybe that was the side of him which Sam found so appealing.

After a few moments of hesitation, Willow put her bags down in front of the dresser and stepped over to the chair between Sam's bed and the window. It was a pretty comfy chair and she had a clear path to the door from it, so if things got too wiggy in the room she could just say that she had a paper due and bolt for the hallway.

Sam looked Spike over, smiling a little. "Have you been awake long?"

He huffed and sat up, nodding towards the hallway. "Hard to sleep through the bleeding ruckus downstairs." He shrugged, seeming oddly small against the pillows and almost… well, if it was anyone else, Willow would have thought he looked anxious. Of course, that really didn't fit with the Spike she remembered.

"Pet, you…" he shook his head slightly, looking towards the window and clenching his jaw. When he turned to Sam again, the intensity in his voice made Willow feel like she was intruding on a private moment. "That rot Harris was saying, you don't believe –"

Sam smiled warmly and squeezed his hand. "What do you think? First off, I _know _you aren't faking anything to get sympathy. You tried to hide how bad off you were at first, and when you did let me help, I patched you up, remember? Seeing is believing, and I wouldn't be helping you if I thought it wasn't worth doing. Okay, technically you don't have a soul, but plenty of people with souls are still awful, so I'm not sure how much that matters in the grand scheme of things. From what I've seen, you're more amoral than evil, and as for disgusting…" she dropped her eyes to the covers and blushed, mumbling, "you're the exact opposite of gross to look at."

Spike nodded and seemed to relax. "Thanks, luv."

Willow sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know why Xander was being such an ass. It's not like he can talk, since he's dating little miss demon."

Spike sat back against the headboard and quirked an eyebrow at her. "Glass houses, huh, Red?"

She gave him an uneasy smile. "Exactly. We've all dated or at least had the hots for demons… Xander more than the rest of us. He's the _last_ one who should be judgmental."

"I'm glad I didn't bite you, Red."

Willow gave him an incredulous look. Well, _that _had come out of nowhere. "What?"

"I mean," he went on, stumbling slightly over his words, "I'm _not_ glad I can't bite anymore, 'cause that's bloody inconvenient an' I'm not 'xactly a fan of starvin' or beggin' for handouts, but I _am_ glad I didn't try to bite you until after those commando wankers did whatever it was they did to me. I don't know anyone else who would'a actually tried to make me feel better bout… 'cept maybe Sam, an' I've gotta feelin' that she wouldn't take too kindly to me doin' to her what I did to you…"

Sam shook her head. "No, I really wouldn't have been all nice and understanding about the attempted murder."

He shrugged. "So yeah. Can't think of anyone else who'd comfort the vamp who charged into 'er room an' tried to kill 'er."

Willow blushed bright pink. "I was only… yeah, you scared me, but you didn't _hurt_ me, and since I was okay and you were so upset... I _had _to say something to make you feel better."

Spike shook his head, getting annoyed again. "That's what I'm getting' at. You've got a big heart, Red, an' for dog-boy to have left you the way he did… I'm not sayin' you're better off wi'out him, but he had someone who loved him as much as you do… he shouldn't have cheated on you, let alone done it _twice. _I know how bloody awful that feels, to love someone an' then find out they've been messin' around on you. An' then leavin' town like that, so's you didn't even have the chance to give 'im both barrels – which you had every bloody right to do – that mongrel doesn't deserve you. I say you shouldn't wait around for the furry sod. Find someone who'll make you happy an' treat you right. Don't settle for less."

Everyone had told her it would take time before she felt better, but no one had said anything about it being okay to be pissed off at Oz, and hearing it felt good, even if it was coming from Spike. She smiled at him, and it felt genuine. "Thanks."

Sam was looking back and forth between them both, but she had to twist awkwardly to do it, so after a moment's deliberation Willow left her chair and sat on the foot of the bed, as close to the door and as far away from Spike's feet as she could manage.

Sam gave her a grateful look, and Spike watched her warily as she sat down. After a moment, he gestured at the shopping bag. "So, what did you birds get out at the shops?"

Sam grinned. "I'm glad you asked." She got the shopping bag and proudly set it down on the bed, giving Willow a conspiratorial wink as she started to unpack her purchases. "The store has this section where the clothes are all a dollar for a pound. There's no real system, just a big area of raised floor with messy piles of shirts and stuff, but I've dug out some pretty cool things there."

One by one, she pulled out a dark bluey-gray t-shirt, a dark red long sleeve pullover, and a dark denim jacket which had been beaten halfway to hell.

Spike gave the growing pile a skeptical look. "This lot was on the floor of the shop?"

Sam rolled her eyes, taking out a pair of stonewashed jeans. "That's why I ran it all through the wash after I bought it. Oh, and since your clothes were dirty too, I grabbed 'em from the bathroom floor, put them in the same load and ran all of it through two wash cycles. Now, I didn't really need to get any clothes for myself, but I know someone else who has a severely limited wardrobe at the moment, so I may have gone a little overboard."

Willow shook her head, watching as Sam put a greeny-gray button down shirt and an oversized fuzzy teal pullover next to the rest of her stuff. Just how much stuff had she bought for Spike, anyway? "Definitely overboard."

They hadn't stuck together at the store the whole time. During one of their conversations Willow had gotten frustrated and had retreated to an area of Disco-era clothes to calm down. When she met up with Sam again, it was outside the store and Sam had already paid for her stuff, so this was the first time Willow was seeing any of it. Actually, she _had _seen the fuzzy pullover when they were at the laundromat. Sam had put it on when it was fresh out of the dryer and still warm. Willow had just assumed that Sam had bought it for herself, since it was one of Sam's favorite colors.

After taking out Spike's distinctive black t-shirt, red silk over shirt and faded black jeans, all of which now had arrow holes in them, the last things out of the bag were a black t-shirt with a 'Ramones' logo and a small lumpy package wrapped in newspaper.

Spike pulled the Ramones shirt closer to get a better look at it, then tilted his head to one side and looked at Sam with raised eyebrows. "So, you think I have 'a severely limited wardrobe'?"

Sam gave a tentative smile, fiddling at one of the shirts. "I'd say one outfit is pretty limiting. If you don't like this stuff, I can return it easy enough."

"No, I…" He shook his head, smiling as he sifted through the pile of clothes. "You didn't need to spend money on me, pet."

Sam made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "It only cost fifteen bucks. I'm sure you'll find a way to pay me back."

Spike grinned and his eyes lit up with a lascivious gleam. "I'm sure you're right." Again, Willow felt like she was intruding, but she didn't exactly feel awkward enough to bolt for her escape hatch, either. Spike chuckled. "At least I'm not seein' any silk brocade in this lot."

Sam's smile turned mischievous, but Willow had no idea why. "I looked, but there weren't any good waistcoats, either. Maybe next time. I'll just have to keep searching."

Spike chuckled and reached for the lumpy package. "This for me too?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded, watching eagerly as he started to unwrap it. "I'm pretty sure you'll like it."

The paper fell away, revealing a large orange coffee mug. Well, mug didn't really do it justice. It was more like a soup bowl with a handle fused onto one side as an afterthought. "It holds just under a quart of liquid, so I figure it's kinda the perfect size for you to drink blood out of since it means you won't need to use a bunch of mugs for each meal. Plus, it's _yours _so Giles won't be cranky about you using his mugs."

Spike stared at the mug, turning it in his hands.

Sam watched him, and Willow knew she was champing at the bit to hear what he thought of the gift. "So, do you want to give it a test-drive?"

When he looked up, there was a shy smile on his face and he shook his head, looking confused. "Pet, I… why are you so good to me?"

"Because I like spoiling you. Plus, this is really more of a favor to myself, since it means I'll only need to wash one mug instead of three or four." Sam shrugged. "Also, it means you owe me, and that means I'll be able to cash in another IOU somewhere down the line. So, dinnertime?"

Spike nodded, handing the mug over and still looking both happy and confused.

"Kay, I'll be right back." She stood up and headed for the door, but then turned and looked from Spike to Willow and back again, narrowing her eyes. "Can I trust you guys to play nice for a couple minutes?"

Willow glanced at Spike and saw that he was looking at her too. An understanding passed between them and she nodded. "We'll be okay."

"Yeah, luv. No need to worry 'bout us."

Sam left the room, and as soon as her footsteps reached the stairs, Willow turned to look at Spike and put on her best resolve face. "Okay, here's the thing. Sam really likes you and I can kinda see why, so I'm not gonna try to get between you guys or mess you up or anything like that, but if you hurt her in _any _way, I'll stake you."

Spike's eyes widened for a moment, almost looking genuinely worried, but then he shrugged and gave her a nonchalant smirk. "Best get in line behind Rupert and Harris, then. You lot might have to fight over who gets to off me." He frowned to himself, then added quickly, "not that I'm gonna hurt her. I never hurt Dru if I could help it, an' I'm gonna do right by Sam."

She crossed her arms, unconvinced. "What about that whole tying-Dru-up-and-torturing-her-till-she-likes-you-again plan? Buffy told me about that."

He rolled his eyes. "Apples an' oranges, Red. Dru _likes_ bein' tortured, Sam doesn't…" He frowned, half muttering to himself, "far as I know, anyway."

"Well, she's mentioned being into some not exactly mainstream stuff, but she didn't go into specifics and I didn't really want to ask…" Willow trailed off.

His mouth quirked up into a curious smile. "Is that right?"

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The conversation had officially strayed into surreal territory.

They were left sitting in awkward silence for almost a minute before Sam came back with the mug of warmed plasma.

"I did it the way you like, and wrote down how much of what goes into it for this mug." She handed the mug to him and sat down next to him against the headboard. "I figure you should know how to make it palatable, since you're gonna be setting up your own blood soon as you're back on your feet."

He took a sip, made an appreciative sound, and took another mouthful before answering. "Tasty as ever. An' how soon d'you think that is gonna be?"

Sam let her hand drift down to touch his leg. "Depends how you're feeling, but I'm hoping to at least have my bed back tonight."

He groaned softly. "Pet, not the bleedin' couch again…"

Sam sighed, clearly affected by his pleading tone and puppy-dog eyes, but standing firm nonetheless. "I'm not ready to jump into bed with you, mister. We've been over this. Cuddling with clothes on is one thing, but I'm not ready for more than that yet, and you promised not to rush me."

"Yeah, I did." He let his head tip back to rest against the wall and stared up at the ceiling with a long-suffering expression. "God I hate bein' all respectful and understanding. S'not a bad couch, I'd just rather stay up here with you."

"Finish your dinner." Sam kissed his temple and nudged his arm slightly. "It's much easier to turn you down when you've got blood-breath."

Willow grinned. "Sneaky." She realized that she hadn't needed to stop herself from giving Sam judgmental-face for a while now. Did that mean she was getting used to the them-ness of them? It probably did, since she had to admit to herself that they seemed to work together, and Sam definitely brought out the best in him. Also, they were pretty darn cute together. Assuming, of course, neither one of them was playing the other for a fool.

After he finished off the blood, Spike seemed to get drowsy. "Thanks, pet." He fumbled the empty mug into Sam's hands, and she leaned away to put it on the bedside table. When she came back to rest next to him, he was barely upright anymore and he'd turned to lie on his side.

Sam frowned and rubbed his back. "Sweetie, want me and Willow to move our conversation downstairs so you can get some sleep?"

He shook his head against the pillows and blinked up at her. "That's alright, pet. If I can sleep through Harmony nattering and doodling on my back with her lipstick, I can sleep through anything." He let his eyes close and slung his arm across Sam's lap. "'Sides, I like listening to you birds talk. Can tell how much you care 'bout each other, an' it's a nice change, hearin' that."

Willow didn't have to ask what it was a nice change from, since she had a pretty good hunch. After overhearing the fight between Xander and Sam with Giles chiming in, Spike had looked sort of, well, wilted, like a dried up sponge, but after a few minutes of sitting and talking with the two of them, he seemed to have re-flated. It almost made sense, like he was soaking up the friendly vibes in the room somehow.

Sam glanced at Willow as though asking whether it was okay to keep talking in front of Spike, or if they should go somewhere more private. Willow smiled and shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me, but I am comfy right here."

Sam nodded and kissed the top of his head. "We'll stay, but if you're having trouble falling asleep, just let me know. Okay?"

"Thanks, luv." Spike let himself slide the rest of the way down until he was lying flat, and sleepily tugged the covers up over himself. Sam started putting his new clothes back into the bag so they wouldn't wind up on the floor. Once that was done, she handed the bag to Willow and nodded towards the chair. Willow understood and she put the bag next to the chair where it would be easy to find but not underfoot

"So, do you wanna hear about some of my adventures in Europe?"

Willow tried to keep a straight face. "Adventures, huh?" She knew the kinds of scrapes that Sam got into.

Sam rolled her eyes, "Okay, _mis_adventures, really. Unless you wanna talk first. How are you doing, after Oz? And no BS about how you're 'fine', because I'm not buying it."

Willow really didn't want to talk about Oz and all of that, because talking made the whole thing real, but she was so tired of pretending to be okay and almost relieved that Sam didn't want her to put on a fake happy face that it all just started tumbling out.

"Everything was okay, or I thought it was, and then all of a sudden it wasn't and I didn't know what changed or if I was just imagining it. Then I found them together and… it was horrible. I've never felt anything like that. It was like I was falling or something, but at the same time, it meant that it wasn't all in my head, and I almost wish it _had _been, and that I was going crazy, 'cause at least then none of it would be happening. I'd just be some jealous, paranoid girlfriend person who was losing her marbles instead of being the mousey little geek who thought her boyfriend was cheating on her and then walked in on him and the slutty werewolf musician chick waking up naked together after a night of wolfy sex."

Sam nodded. "I get that. You know I like Oz, but after this, if I see him I'm gonna break his nose, just on principle."

Spike growled quietly and mumbled to the covers. "Furry wanker deserves it, an' worse. Remind me never to mess around on you, pet."

Sam chuckled and kissed the top of his head. "Will do. You know, there is one upside. Since Veruca was a girl wolf, it's technically correct to refer to her as a bitch."

It was true, and funny, and Willow felt herself grinning. "Yeah, a big, slutty selfish bitch. It feels good to say that."

Sam patted her knee. "Keeping stuff bottled up when you're hurting isn't healthy. Venting is good, just know your audience and don't overdo it. After a while, venting becomes ranting, and then you're moving into obsession territory. Also not healthy."

Willow let out a breath and filed that info away. She realized that Spike hadn't said anything for a while, and she looked over at him curiously. Except for that one time watching over Angel after he'd been poisoned, she'd never been this close to a mostly-asleep vampire, and it was kind of fascinating. She noticed that as Spike got closer to falling asleep, his breathing gradually became slower and shallower, until eventually it stopped completely.

The girls kept talking for a while, keeping their voices fairly low so they wouldn't wake him. After a few minutes, Willow noticed something strange. Spike was frowning, and then he started to mutter, sounding upset.

"No… don't touch her. No, stop. Sam, run. Get out of here."

Sam stroked his hair, trying to calm him. "I wonder what he's dreaming about."

Spike fisted his hand in the covers, oblivious to Sam's caresses as his nightmare played out. "Bastard… let her go. Sam… I'm coming… No, no…"

Willow shook her head, frowning at the weirdness. What the hell did vampires have nightmares about, anyway?. "I don't know, but whatever it is, it doesn't sound good."

TBC


End file.
